The Fire of Futures Past
by Euphonemes
Summary: "What if?" A powerful question. Both scary and enlightening. For one night, around a warm campfire, one very large and special ohana will dive into this question, and as long as the snacks hold out, they'll discover more about the power of "What if?" Come join them around the campfire to hear some wild answers to "What if?" *Open for content suggestions. See Ch 1 for details.*
1. Chapter 1

**_This should be a fun story - it's one I'm very excited about! It's a different format, but one that I think makes sense for how this story will be told. As always, any suggestions, comments, and ideas, please PM or review. Enjoy! - Euphonemes_**

 ** _Update (9/7/15) - After some thought, and LumiChan640's suggestion, I'll be opening this story for content suggestions. Chapter 2 is an example of how the chapters in this fic will look. I have several other chapters planned already, and an overall fic arc drawn out, but I'd like to solicit some other ideas for stories for these chapters. If there's a chapter you'd like me to write, I need:_** ** _The character who will be telling the story in the chapter. And what the story will be about. Give as little or as much detail as you want. I can't promise I will write a chapter for every idea, but so long as it fits into the theme of this fic, then I will try to create something for you. Please provide your suggestions either through PM or in the reviews section of this fic. ~ Euphonemes_**

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 _The Fire of Futures Past_

He had planned for a quiet evening. Even the jungle bugs had listened to him, and kept far away from the campfire crackling behind their house on the hill. But the quiet would not stay for long.

He had tended the fire on his own, holding off an excited cousin from spraying lava as an igniter. It had been troublesome at first, but eventually, the embers took, and the flames had risen. Proud of his accomplishment, Stitch beamed as he examined the crowd his fire had drawn.

All cousins had been welcome, and the news had traveled at Sparky speed around the island. Most of them milled about the jungle canopy, just close enough to not miss any of the action in the ring of logs encircling the fire. Seats were at a premium, and a few scuffles and some of Heckler's favorite rude words were exchanged between several Experiments fighting over the last of the spots on the logs. The lineup in the circle would change throughout the evening, of that Stitch had no doubt, as cousins would beg, borrow, and steal their way to be closer to his fire.

Some of the log's seats would be pretty safe. Stitch was fairly confident he would not be displaced, nor would Angel, who shared part of his palm trunk. She giggled softly as somewhere between three and five cousins brayed angrily over the old stump —the last and perhaps the least comfortable option available. Reuben had somehow conned someone out of their seat. He had sneaked back inside to whip up an egg salad sandwich, yet had kept his place, now greedily eyeing the delight gripped firmly in his claws. And of course, no one would dare take the spot reserved for the little girl. Lilo stared off toward one of many stars in the night sky, half-coherently mumbling something about mind control and rock 'n' roll.

Jumba and Pleakley had elected to stand — though for how long they would continue to do so would be anyone's guess. The evil scientist was dangling Pleakley's blonde wig high above his head. Tentacles flailed impotently, which only elicited deeper laughs from Jumba. Nani was coming out of the house, snacks in hand, berating the portly alien for torturing his companion. As the scent of something sweet drifted by Jumba's wide nose, he graciously dropped the wig and raced to claim his inordinately large share of the treats. Cobra's car pulled up just as Jumba reached Nani, who ineffectually batted at him while he snagged several goodies. The CIA agent turned social worker, decked out in an atypical Aloha shirt, waved at Stitch, the only one paying enough attention to notice he had arrived. Stitch was glad to see Cobra had listened to his suggestion on casual attire for the evening.

Eventually, everyone regained a semblance of composure. Cousins and humans laughed and chatted, catching up, reminiscing, and enjoying the company. After an intense few years of tracking everyone down and finding them a place, the island was finally entering the doldrums of peace. Though they all lived so near to one another on this tiny island, time for talking —for really conversing — had been short. A small part of Stitch had been surprised that so many of his cousins had learned about his planned get-together, and a bigger part of Stitch was happily relieved.

Above, the stars turned. As expected, many of the seats around the fire changed ownership, though a few remained untouched by any other rear end. It took a long while, but the din of mingling did die away. The roar of a well-tended fire rushed in, and flames licking the inky black sky mesmerized the crowd. But only for a time.

Pleakley asked the question first. Stitch had almost done so, and he was sure many of the others were thinking it. The surprise of such high attendance existed concomitantly with the shock that he had not prepared to entertain such a gaggle of cousins. No games had been procured. No agenda for fun — a bureaucratic Pleakley suggestion — had been set. Fortunately, food was plentiful, as Reuben —mostly likely with the help of Bonnie, who had wormed her way onto a log — had gained access to some poor sap's bank account and went grocery shopping. Stitch wagered that with this sizable party, the mountain of bread and pile of sandwich fixings now filling every crevice in the kitchen would be gone by morning. Under his breath, he complimented Reuben's accidental forethought.

"What do we do now?" rose Pleakley's nasally voice.

He placed a pale tentacle on Stitch's shoulder. Devoid of an answer, he looked to Angel. She passed the silence to her right, and it traced out a ring of quiet which encircled the little snapping campfire. The silence flew right past awkward, and as it persisted, it almost assumed a holiness. The serenity of a campfire shared with good friends under the stars was almost untouchable, not meant to be soiled with banter and triteness.

Almost was never enough to stop Lilo. In a sacrilegious move, she leapt up from her log and broke the sacred silence with, "I know what we can do!"

 _Chapter 1_

 _Let's Tell a Story_

That riled Stitch's attention. "Ooh, _meega_ love stories!" He nestled his sapphire fur closer to the fire, nearly falling off his seat. The tips of his claws glinted in the fiery orange as he pointed around the circle. "But who start?"

"Yeah, and what're we gonna talk about?" Reuben piped up. During the silence, he had turned his head away, primarily to hide the scarfing noises he made while devouring his egg salad victim. Bits of mustard clung to the underside of his cherry nose, dripping brighter yellow splotches onto darker goldenrod fur. Half the circle got a chuckle in before he wiped it away.

"A fine question," boomed the velvety deep voice of Cobra. The fire shuddered as he spoke. "Perhaps some thought from the audience?"

Fragments of Tantalog and broken English jumped between leaves of the jungle canopy. Stitch listened intently, hoping to construct a logical starting point from the jumbled mess. The noise rose, mimicking the crashing ocean waves that were not crashing tonight. The calm sea copied the sky above, and Stitch could watch the stars turn as his cousins shouted nonsense.

Above and below, the stars turned. Stitch looked to Lilo, whose eyes glinted as she watched the stars turn. The corner of her mouth twitched a few times, and she shook her head, maybe waking from some walking dream. "Hmm…." In an instant, the crowd fell silent. "Well, I've always wondered what would've happened to everyone if all of you hadn't found Earth."

The fragments jumped again. Jumba gave a clear voice to them. "What are you meaning, little girl?"

"Well, I mean, what if we weren't all here, right now? What if we could do _whatever_ we wanted, be wherever, and see whoever? What if…." A pinky pointed to the stars. "…we could be up there?"

"Pah!" Jumba was quick to mock. "I have been being up _there_ before, little girl. Is no fun, trust me."

"Well now, hold on there, Jumba. I kind of _like_ where she's going with it," Pleakley came to Lilo's aid. "What if I hadn't been stuck with you on your mission to Earth?"

"Hmm…or what if my lab had not been being shut down…what could I be doing?" Four beady eyes sparkled with the tongues of the campfire.

"Yeah, and what if I could be out there, robbin' — I dunno, intergalactic banks or somethin'!" Stitch thought Bonnie was creepily thrilled at that prospect.

"Yeah, and what if!" was followed by many such thoughts for the next few minutes. Content to let it unfold without him, Stitch reclined on the log. He watched the top of his fire set the black sky shimmering. Pride swelled up again.

"Wait, wait!" Reuben cried. "We can't have all'a these different stories —that's too much! We gotta narrow it down."

Stitch was too enraptured by his pride to catch most of the conversation and whatever bickering took place. He did, however, take notice when Reuben spoke up again.

"But really, there's only one reason we found our way ta Earth, 'n' why we're not out in space already."

Pride deserted him as a chorus arose. "Blame him," came the accusatory finger-pointing at Stitch, who nearly recoiled off his comfy log. Luckily, Angel reflexively caught his back.

" _Gaba?_ " Stitch offered, not bothering to cover up his confusion.

"Not sayin' that it's a bad thing we're here, cuz! But, y'know, be interestin' to think about if you weren't here."

It was at this point that Stitch lost track of who was speaking, as the jungle enlivened with chatter.

"Hey, yeah! What would've happened without Stitch finding his way to Earth?"

"What could you have done?"

"That could be pretty interesting…."

"Well then, let's talk about Stitch!"

Blue arms waved and pleaded for reconsideration, but the group just grew more raucous by the second. He may as well have tried to stop the stars from turning.

"Cool! I wanna start!"

 _Once upon a time, a little blue guy named Stitch—_

"Now wait, you don't get to start! _I_ do!"

"No, me!"

" _Naga, meega boojiboo!_ "

"Nuh-uh, _I_ should go first!"

They drowned out the noises of the warm campfire. Experiments hopped on top of their seats, clamoring to be the first to talk about what Stitch could have accomplished were he not tending this fire. Showing remarkable patience, Stitch waited as they settled it among themselves.

Reuben would be the one to close out the massive argument. "Okay, quiet everyone! Quiet!" He had booted a few cousins off the uncomfortable stump, and now stood, waving goldenrod arms as a conductor guiding his orchestra. "Alright then, we're gonna have a lotta people who wanna tell a lotta tall tales, aren't we? In that case, probably better ta say —"

 _Chapter 1_

 _Let's Tell Some Stories_

The entire jungle at once exclaimed, " _Morcheeba!_ "

While everyone else buzzed with excitement as Reuben settled the group and prepared to conduct a symphony of "Yeah, and what if!", Stitch sighed and crumpled, hiding himself as best he could on the log. The quiet evening he had planned would be quiet no longer — not that he was terribly surprised.

Angel brought him back into his seat. She gave him a heartwarming smile, and he felt a little lighter. She pointed at the fire, whose reddened flames begged for tending. He reignited the fire, and she reignited his pride. As long as she stayed next to him on the log, he would be ready for this symphony.

"Now," bellowed Reuben, whose hands were raised, ready to open the first movement, "the question of the evening — who's gonna start?"

#

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 ** _One more thing -_** _Disclaimer : This story is a fictional work. Any references to any persons, living or dead, are coincidental. This fiction is intended for personal consumption. It is not intended for commercial sale or distribution. "Stitch" and all related media © The Walt Disney Company. All other media included in this work © Euphonemes._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Content suggestions are open. If you have an idea for a story for a chapter, please follow instructions found on Chapter 1. And then enjoy this story! ~ Euphonemes**_

* * *

 _The Fire of Futures Past_

Pandemonium erupted on the hillside. Flickers of flame cast their warm orange glow over heated exchanges that fanned out through the jungle. Some of Stitch took a strange pleasure from the arguments over who should first tell a story about him — it _was_ awfully flattering. Yet, as the spats acquired sourer tones, that part of him fell silent, and he assumed the mantle of peacekeeper, determined to tamp down the blaze around his campfire.

Reuben had already left his podium and entered into a screaming match with Bonnie over by her stolen seat. Stitch started to make his way over, but was jostled around by cousins who began pleading their cases to him only to be forced to fend off one another. He peeked around flailing arms and salesman smiles to find someone —anyone — to help him. Through these small glances, Stitch figured out where Reuben and Angel and most of his other housemates were located. But, conspicuously, Nani was absent.

Stitch's mind adamantly declared that he had seen her only a few minutes ago. _How long have they all been arguing?_ The campfire still burned steadily, but Stitch had no clue how long that fire had been burning, or how much longer it could really hold out. He darted through a few skirmishes that had broken out right behind the circle of logs, dodging a few flying fists, until he reached the portico behind the house. As he went to turn the doorknob to let himself inside and escape the mess, the knob turned on its own.

When Nani looked down and saw Stitch, she knelt, holding her hands away, behind the half-open door. "Hey, I need your help with something. Come in real quick." He hesitated, but once a sultry scent started to blow past his nose, he tumbled through the doorway.

It was almost scary how quickly the fighting died down when Nani and Stitch emerged with platefuls of finger sandwiches. Nani had sneaked inside and with incredible speed had whipped together enough morsels of meat, cheese, and bread to appease such a raucous crowd. As the first platters touched down, Stitch sprinted back to the house and brought out a wide assortment of accompaniments for the sandwiches. Cries of excitement became muffled munching, and soon, peace had been restored to Stitch's campfire.

Nani positioned herself on a log, almost directly across from her sister, accidentally booting out one cousin. An extra sandwich ended the grumblings of the displaced Experiment. "Well then, while you're all chowing down on these snacks, I think I'll go ahead and start."

In between mouthfuls of a delicious-looking salami sandwich, Lilo managed, "Really — _you_ , Nani?"

There was a certain sisterly scorn that passed between them, as one seemed to gain great amusement from the snarky jab, while the other appeared to be deliberating on increasingly clever ways to dispense revenge. The finger sandwiches kept Stitch from giggling aloud, and he shoved a few more down his gullet as the sisters waged a very cold — if very short —war.

" _Oi_ Lilo, for someone getting free room and board, you can be such—"

"A pain?" A ham-and-Swiss was now trapped in Lilo's clutches.

Nani grunted. "Enjoy your sandwich, Lilo. And I'll do the talking, okay?"

Interestingly enough, Lilo agreed. She turned her attention to a fresh and unopened bag of potato chips, which exhaled a salty breath as she unsealed it. Stitch waited for any more commentary, and when the gallery remained silent, he gestured toward Reuben, who then resumed his post on the stump. "Alright, everyone, hush now! It's Nani's turn." He pivoted to her. "Yer crowd, Nani."

She cleared her throat, readjusted her spot on the log, and leaned in toward anticipative eyes. "Oh, do I have something for you."

 _Chapter 2_

 _Nani's Story_

Nani reached behind her log, and rustled around the dirt, grasping for something. After a few moments of frustration, her eyes lit up. She rolled forward toward the fire, and out from behind her popped a scarlet blanket. She fondled the fuzzy square, which glowed in the firelight, and began drawing the corners together.

"A long time ago, our blue friend here found this blanket while I was washing it. He tied it around his neck, like so." The drawn-up corners flipped around her back and tied together at the front of her neck. "He was very proud of himself…but not as proud as when he added his headpiece." From behind the log, Nani pulled out a lacy bra and strapped it to the top of her head. "Couldn't find the actual one you used, but this'll do…" she muttered in a none-too-secret aside.

Angel got quite the kick out of it, as did the rest of his cousins. Their laughs ricocheted off their house and scattered into the jungle and over the ocean. Stitch was not one to be easily embarrassed — picking one's nose with one's tongue provided a solid inurement to that emotion — yet when he looked at Nani, doing a spot-on interpretation of a very naïve Stitch, he was terribly glad he did not have cheeks that could turn as deep a shade of scarlet as the blanket. After she tittered in her usually soft way, Angel offered a reassuring pat on the back, which tided Stitch over until the laughter finally all washed out to sea.

"Oh, I'm just teasing you," Nani floated. "It was pretty cute, to be honest. And in fact, it's almost, inspirational, to me. Because I do think you would make a great superhero."

With that, Nani leaned closer to the fire. The flames flickered in a light ocean breeze, nearly as salty as the chips Lilo noisily crunched. Nani tugged on the tied corners of her blanket-cape, and then spanned her arms wide to set her scene.

 _The sleek red starship cut through the inky darkness of space. Our hero, Super Stitch, gazed out into the void. His trusty cape fluttered as he jumped from console to console, seeking out places where justice needed to be dispensed. His solemn duty: to protect the galaxy from all evil and bad people and such._

 _Fresh from a mission of saving orphaned kittens from an angry flame creature, Super Stitch picked at some burnt hairs while a radar screen pinged and returned emptiness. A rare moment for him to relax — keeping the galaxy safe was a constant and tiring affair. After another blank screen, he stepped back, ready for a nap. An alarm sounded. The cabin lights dimmed as Super Stitch rushed to his fancy pilot's chair._

" _Super Stitch, we need your help!" The normally demure tone of the Grand Councilwoman was obviously shaken. Super Stitch put his hands on his hips as she continued from the big fancy cockpit view screen. "Ever since you were granted a pardon by the United Galactic Federation after your trial, and then took on your role as Deliverer of Justice with us, you've known that one day, you may have to face off with one of your own."_

 _Super Stitch gulped, but stood steady. Her obsidian eyes sighed for her. "Today is that day. Experiment One-Four-Nine has escaped our custody. We know where she is hiding, and we know that if she not captured soon, she will wreak absolute havoc throughout the galaxy. As Deliverer of Justice, we need you to apprehend her. Can you do this for us?"_

"Hold up a sec here! _I'm_ the bad guy?" Bonnie was standing on the log, glaring at Nani, who had paused her story at the outburst.

"Well…yes."

Bonnie nodded a few times. The whole jungle watched through the campfire's glow as an ear-to-ear grin split across Bonnie's face. "Cool." Nani smiled, too.

 _The Grand Councilwoman's face darkened. "And by the way, she is totally cool with being the bad guy, and doing bad guy things. So be careful, Super Stitch. The galaxy is counting on you."_

"And wait!" Pleakley's pasty arms waved through the air. Nani halted and assumed an extremely peeved countenance. "Why would he still be named _Stitch_? If he never reached Earth, how could he have gotten the name?"

Nani was immediate with a response. "Because Six-Two-Six is harder to say. Besides, he just looks like a _Stitch_. Right, everyone?"

Agreeable murmurs resonated around the campfire. Stitch gave a vigorous and approving nod. He much preferred that name, too. Pleakley appeared less than contented, but kept his mouth shut.

"Great, now that we all agree…."

 _Super Stitch bid the Grand Councilwoman a fond farewell and then went to his main console. She had sent him a set of coordinates, which he expertly plugged into his computer. The screen came alive with his path to justice. From the center console arose a black-and-yellow striped plunger. More alarms were sounding, warning our hero of the impending hyperspace jump. With a barely contained glee, Super Stitch shoved down the plunger, and the ship tore through space to dispense galactic justice._

 _But as time passed, Super Stitch grew worried. He tugged nervously on his cape and on the corners of his polka-dot headpiece. His headpiece's origin had been a mystery. When he had received it from a strange cloaked figure after his pardon from his prison sentence, he had no idea what to do with it. No instruction, no hint — it was only after painstaking trial and error that he determined its true power. Yet, he remembered how life was before he found it. The struggles he faced within himself, as his nature fought the galaxy's nurture. His love for protecting the galaxy won out, but every time he remembered those early days, before the headpiece, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, always worrying about how easy slipping back might be._

 _His gut grumbled. Super Stitch patted his stomach, thinking himself hungry. But even when he rifled through his Super Snack Bin and devoured half its contents, he was not appeased. This "one of his own" he was supposed to capture — something about the Experiment designation had him worried. He leaped to his console and dialed out to a very long distance number._

" _Ach, hello there, Super Stitch! A pleasure to be seeing you again!" The face of his creator, Jumba Jookiba, filled up the video call screen. "Fortunately for you, I am having a few moments of break from work here at Galaxy Defense Industries. And I am betting that you are calling about One-Four-Nine?"_

 _Super Stitch almost let his gasp escape. "Yuuga—"_

" _Yes, of course I would know. Is my job. Anyway, you are probably wanting to find out what she is being capable of. And how to be stopping her."_

 _Super Stitch nodded. "Ih." His headpiece bobbed, and skidded out of place. His eye twitched a few times before he noticed the headpiece and adjusted accordingly._

" _Well, she is frightening creature, Super Stitch. Is incredibly powerful manipulator. She can talk her way out of most situations — probably how she was escaping her cell — and is great at convincing you of almost anything. She may be seeming friendly, but if all that should be failing, she becomes fierce fighter, too."_

"Heh, yes, always was enjoying creating One-Four-Nine's powers…" mused Jumba, who had just scarfed down the last of a dozen sandwiches.

"You know it!" shouted Bonnie. Her grin had only expanded as Nani's story continued. A story she appeared eager to start up again. Bonnie noticed. "Sorry Nani. Please."

 _Super Stitch hid his fear well. Jumba perked up as Super Stitch remained standing tall. "Ah, I knew nothing would worry greatest creation! Sadly, I am not having any gadget to help you. All I can be offering is this — do not be listening to her, Super Stitch. Be ignoring her words, and you will be capturing her easily. Good luck!"_

 _As the screen went black, Super Stitch went to his chair and slouched. Seeking Jumba's advice had seemed to prove fruitful, but still, Super Stitch feared what was to come. 'A showdown with my own kind, a…cousin,' he considered. His cape fluttered as he twisted in his chair. He fought to reconcile his oath to protect the galaxy with the ties of family, of someone just like him who—_

"C'mon, get to the good part!" All the eyes around the campfire wheeled to Bonnie, who was vigorously jumping on the log. "I wanna hear my part now!"

"Pah! Such petulance — is beautiful thing," Jumba sniffled.

"C'mon Nani. Tell me what I did. How _bad_ was I?" Other Experiments had joined in, echoing Bonnie's loudly exhibited sentiments. Reuben's hands whipped around as he tried to calm down the group. Nani sighed, and stuck her own hand in the air. The air fell still — much to Reuben's obvious dismay.

"Okay, I'll skip ahead a bit… _oi_ , you're a tough crowd, almost as bad as the tourists at the luau." She cleared her throat again and stretched.

 _Out of hyperspace, Super Stitch easily found the planet. Around the red ball, a space station orbited high up. His console squawked, and he felt the ship shift its path to the station. Super Stitch stared through the screen, confused, befuddled, and…uh, confused. Why was his ship headed to that tiny station? What could possibly be aboard that so threatened the galaxy—_

"You said _confused_ twice." This time, all the eyes wheeled to Pleakley, whose one eye looked shocked at his own intrusion into Nani's story. The group grumbled a bit, but stayed mostly still, waiting for Nani to take charge.

"Pleakley." Her voice bit with such potent venom that Pleakley instantly shied away. He used Jumba as a shield from the rising hisses and boos of the crowd. Tentacles waggled and antenna sagged.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" he hastily rattled off. After a half-minute of the abuse, Nani waved her hands, and the jungle fell silent. Pleakley then repeated his thanks several dozen times before gesturing for her to continue unfolding her narrative.

 _The clamp reached out and ensnared the little red ship. The airlock hissed open, and Super Stitch set foot onto the cold steel floor of the station. The lights were dimmed, almost as much as his cockpit had been when the alarms rang. Super Stitch passed several doors. On occasion, he would peek into them, only to find mountains of metallic junk and electronic doodads and things. A thick cable of wiring ran along the length of the floor, and he followed it all the way to a big set of double doors at the end of the hallway. He stepped in front of them, and they whooshed open._

 _A bank of consoles, like the ones he used for communication from his ship, lined a large square gray room. At its center stood a pale green figure, shaped much like himself, typing furiously on a keyboard device. The clacks bounced around the room, along with some whispered Tantalog curses in a gruff yet alluring voice. The doors slammed shut — not much for subtlety — and he had little time to be amazed before Experiment One-Four-Nine whipped around._

" _Ah, if it isn't Super Stitch. How unfortunate to make your official acquaintance!" She cackled and leapt from the keyboard, lunging at Super Stitch with glinting claws. He easily sidestepped her move._

 _Standing a few feet apart, on level ground, she spoke. "Ah, just testing your reflexes, is all. You really are quite super, aren't you? Now, tell me, Super Stitch," she hissed with condescension dripping from her lips, "why are you working for those Federation rubes?"_

 _Super Stitch kept his focused frown, but his mind raced with, 'Gaba? What does she mean?'_

" _C'mon, I mean, really." The vinegar of condescension was replaced with honey. "You could do so much more with your power. You're super, after all. You could be dispensing your own brand of justice, no one else's arbiter. It'd be all up to you," she dragged out her syrupy syllables, inching ever closer to Super Stitch. "You could practically conquer this galaxy. And, if you had some help…" she offered a coquettish smirk, "why, we'd be unstoppable!" She extended a green-backed hand, which shimmered in the dimmed command room lighting. "Join me, Super Stitch. Let's take this galaxy. Together."_

 _His paw trembled. She sounded so sincere. And so right. Super Stitch had done much for the Federation — and for what? His headpiece started to slip off one of his long swooping ears. 'Maybe I should…' his mind wondered. He started to reach for her, but first, his hand took a brief detour and adjusted his headpiece._

 _His ear easily fit back into the snug cup. And then reality rushed back to him. Through clearer eyes, he saw right through her transparent ploy. His foot dug into the cold floor. "Naga!" He watched as her palm curled into a fist. "Now: your plan. Tell me!"_

 _She gave a hearty laugh as she took a few steps backward. "Not so fast. Your resistance is impressive, and I may just tell you what I'm up to, but first… let's see how strong your interrogation skills are!"_

 _She moved with a viper's litheness and fury. Super Stitch dipped and dodged out of flurries of flashing claws. He parried each blow, but each time, it drained a little more stamina. He was super, but not invincible. 'How long can she keep this going?' he thought after every half-dozen of her stabs and swipes. The sounds of their battle echoed throughout the room. Errant claws shredded a few consoles, and spent sparks showering over the duo locked in combat. The room was plain, nothing for Super Stitch to leap onto, or use to gain an advantage. And the claws continued cutting, slicing through the air, and every so often removing a blue hair which would tumble down to the gray ground._

 _Minutes dragged on, each one more tiring than the last. They had circled the room four times, breaking apart consoles and scratching metal paneling to shreds. Finally, after so many perfect blocks, Super Stitch missed one. He had been paying attention, but went left instead of right. She made him pay for it._

 _Super Stitch was on the ground, breath heaving from exertion. She was just as winded, but still managed a cruel cackle between deep inhalations. "Silly Super Stitch. You're missing out on something great here! Why won't you give it up? It'd be much better with me. We wouldn't be bound by any'a those rules, or anything that Federation had to say. It's so much better to be free."_

"Boo!" arose the shout from the stump. Reuben was on his feet, thumb pointed as far down as it could go. "Ya can't let Bonnie win. She's so… _mean_."

"Aww, didn't realize you were such a softie." Bonnie's wink had Reuben in the dirt. Were he not restrained by the nearby cousins — and not within eyesight of Bonnie's massive protector, Clyde — Stitch shuddered to think of what would have happened. But as it did happen, Reuben cooled down, and returned to his mediating stump. Stitch had been taken a bit by surprise at Reuben's sudden sensitivity, and wondered what crucial facts he must have been missing about the situation. Angel gave him a smile that said she had plenty to tell him about the whole thing, but at a time when it would not be quite so public.

Nani had waited patiently as the kerfuffle burned itself out. She prodded Stitch to tend to the fire, which was weakening. Though he had not meant to neglect the flames, he had been so enraptured by her story, like most of his other cousins, signified by the eerily quiet jungle. And as embers shot up on new plumes of heated island air, she launched back into it.

 _A blue paw planted on the metal ground. It was cold. He pushed up onto one knee, wide dark eyes staring down his quarry. She laughed as he tried to mutter his rejection, but he was still so out of breath. It was then he noticed that half the headpiece had slipped off his ear, the cup dangling in the corner of his vision. His eyes twitched a few times. She gasped when she saw._

" _Oh, that must be it! That headpiece of yours…." A green-backed hand reached out. Super Stitch summoned the strength to swat it away. "Oh, c'mon now, Super Stitch! Lemme at it! I just wanna see."_

 _He managed a few more healthy swats, but eventually, she broke through. He could feel her pleasure as she lifted the polka-dot piece from atop his head. The world suddenly got hazier, a fog descending over the control room. He patted his naked ears, unused to the cool wind of an air conditioner blowing over them —or any wind, for that matter. He slumped to the cold metal floor, head spinning, lost in the fog._

 _He could hear her, but just barely. "This'll look great when I go live to the galaxy. Might even buy me a few more converts — or convince a few more suckers to gimme everything they got!" He watched through cloudy eyes as she shoved her head into the headpiece, wrapping the cups carefully around her green ears._

 _As she started toward the central console, with the keyboard device already lighting up, Super Stitch wrestled with his own mind. The fog had grown denser. The angry thoughts of an Experiment from long ago swirled up. He railed against them, trying to beat back his nature. But, it was already starting to overwhelm him. The destruction, the chaos, everything he could inflict, all rising back._

 _And then he remembered the words of a shadowy figure. It had cornered Super Stitch in the hallway on Turo, once his pardon had been officially granted. The headpiece had felt natural, and when he slipped it on, a warmth cascaded from the tips of his ear down to the claws on his toes. It was a kindness, one he had never experienced before. When the Parole Committee had asked, he had lied. He had not been rehabilitated — but he convincingly played the role of a convert. But with his headpiece, what he had said in that meeting now rang more true than anything ever had before._

 _As he gazed through clearer eyes at the shadowy figure, it whispered, "This will help you see for now. Use this gift and bring kindness and justice to this galaxy. And there will come a time, some day from now, when you will no longer need it. When the headpiece will become part of who you are. Then, and only then, will you truly understand what I've given you. On that day, I ask only one thing — share that gift as much as you can."_

 _And in that control room in a space station orbiting some faraway red planet, Super Stitch intended to do just that. By now, the power of the headpiece had saturated Experiment One-Four-Nine. Every cell in her body would be subjected to the awesome power of kindness. The fog in his eyes evaporated, and he rose from the deck. He gave the corners of his cape a few tugs, to make sure everything was in place, and then Super Stitch made his way to his foe._

 _She had wilted onto the central console, her arms dangling over the edge of the keyboard device. Two sets of clear eyes met. She chuckled, but it was softer, less icy, than before. "I get it. You wanted me to have it. Pretty clever, Super Stitch. Took one right outta my own playbook." She shifted, turned her head to survey the console bank. "This, station here, it's a transmitter. Can go galaxy-wide with broadcasts, straight into every home in every quadrant. And I was gonna tell the galaxy to gimme everything they had. All their money, their jewels, valuables, and whatever. I can be…persuasive, y'know. Most of the time, at least." A hand struggled to yank off the headpiece, but lethargic fingers surrendered rather quickly. "But now, I just…don't wanna." She tried to stand, and collapsed. Super Stitch caught her in his super arms. "It just seems…mean, yeah?"_

 _Super Stitch nodded. He buried the huge grin begging to burst forth. He knew exactly what she meant. He had had his revelation long ago. Finally, it was time to share it with others. 'Others like me.'_

" _Ya probably are gonna take me in now, aren't ya?"_

" _Ih."_

 _She sighed. "I really don't wanna go back to prison. It's…cold and, and boring there. Can't we stay out, just a little longer?"_

 _Super Stitch shook his head, and helped her to her feet. He was content to leave the headpiece on, at least until he got her to his ship. She shuffled alongside, grasping his arms to hold herself steady. The doors hissed closed as they neared the docking port. Before climbing in, she looked into his wide dark eyes. "Kindness and justice, huh? Does make a little sense, but…dunno, I don't think I could ever get used to it."_

 _Super Stitch laughed. His ears bounced with his belly. The cape fluttered in the wind of an air conditioner. "Meega didn't either."_

Nani smiled as she looked around the campfire. Hundreds of eyes glinted in the flames. She sat back and unhooked her headpiece, twirling the lacy apparatus in the ocean breeze. "See? It's a super-powered headpiece. Not so funny now, is it?" Nani winked at Stitch, who barely contained his appreciation. Angel could sense his bottled emotion, and massaged his shoulder blade with her knuckles while wearing her own bright smile.

"Alright, that was _pretty_ good. I'm not so hot about the part where I lose, and get all kind and whatever, but not bad, Nani." Bonnie nodded approvingly as she spoke. "Not bad at all."

"Hmm, yes, is most impressive," Jumba talked through two sandwiches he had indelicately shoved into his mouth. "You are being good storyteller."

"But what about the—"Pleakley started before half the jungle screamed at him to stay quiet. The noise level rose rapidly, and it swelled over him with breathtaking speed and size. Nani went over and gave him a consoling pat as she worked to break the tide.

" _Oi_ , everyone, leave him alone. He's just a fan of detail, that's all. I like that about him." Everyone obliged, and soon, they all had reduced themselves to murmurs about their favorite parts, or what they would have done differently, or what Super Stitch would find himself doing next. Nani beamed — only for a moment, but she did beam — when Lilo gave her positive review.

"Pretty good, sis. No giant mutant ants, but still good." Lilo reached down to the sandwich platter, hand grasping for another tasty morsel, but she came away empty. "Uh…."

"Oh! Looks like we're outta snacks—"

Stitch shoved his claws into his log and crouched down. He knew his quiet campfire would be quiet no longer.

#


	3. Chapter 3

_The Fire of Futures Past_

The noise exploding from the jungle far surpassed the vitriol that had been let loose on Pleakley just moments earlier. Cries of anguish bounded along palm fronds. Cousins skittered through the sand and dirt, tearing at bags to lick out potato chip crumbs, and scrambling and shredding nibbled sandwich crusts. Nani raised her hands, first pleading for quiet, and then yelling for it.

Eventually, she rose above the noise. "Calm down, everyone! There's plenty more! I'll go and make some! Everyone, _please_ , calm down!" Pandemonium did recede, but eyes shifted around the campfire. Paranoia twinkled brilliantly in the flickering flames.

"Tell you what— while I'm whipping up the next batch, how about we start another story? I'll let _him_ decide who." After she pointed an authoritative finger at Reuben, she hauled off to the house, empty platters dangling between fingers. But the tension stayed steady around the fire.

While Reuben stammered through his stance on what to do next — something Stitch paid little attention to — Angel prodded his shoulder. " _Meega_ hungry," she whispered into Stitch's ear. She patted her stomach, which rumbled on command.

" _Oketaka_ ," Stitch acknowledged. He had devoured many sandwiches already, but only now realized he had failed to offer any to Angel. _Naga good boojiboo_ , he could almost hear her thinking. A deep shame drove him to scout out the other logs, seeking sustenance for her. He finally happened across half of a bologna-and-cheese. Though the corners had been gnawed, the bulk of the sandwich was intact. Carefully — quietly — he slithered a paw to it. Claws sunk into the squishy bread.

And claws sunk into his hand. Stitch yelped, then looked up to find Bonnie had shoved her claws into his flesh. "Not so fast, mate! Just whad'ya think you're doin'?"

He tried to talk, but the spikes in his hand made word formation difficult. He did manage to growl, though it failed to be quite as menacing as he had hoped. In fact, it only made Bonnie laugh.

Apparently, that had been enough. "Yeah, alright, take it." She relinquished her grip, and Stitch pulled back, with sandwich in tow. "But be sure to give it to her, ya little thief." Her sly wink had Angel growling as Stitch slunk back to his seat and handed over the illicit prize. Angel went docile as she munched on the sandwich.

Reuben had somewhat regained control of the scene, and was queuing up cousins for stories. "Alright, alright, lemme see here, we got…uh, Nosy wants ta tell one, maybe — hey Heckler, did you have one in mind?" Everyone was chattering away at their nearest neighbors, employing enough small talk to distract hungry bellies, which blocked out Reuben's attempts to plan out the evening's pending entertainment. "C'mon guys, need a little help here!"

Stitch left Reuben to his own devices, and instead focused on Angel. The sandwich nearly gone, she was purring contentedly, wearing a warm and placated smile. Stitch was especially drawn to the creases that would form around her deep dark eyes whenever she smiled. It was tough not to stare, and once Angel noticed, she perked up, knowing exactly which part Stitch was ogling — she knew him so well. She giggled and took his hand. " _Booji—_ "

"Hiya, thief!" Stitch and Angel spun around to discover that Bonnie had floated her way over to their log. She was perched on the very edge, teetering dangerously close to Stitch's face. Angel nearly rocketed from her seat as Bonnie leaned into him. "Oh, don't be jealous. I'm not interested — no offense, Stitch."

Stitch was smart enough not to take offense. In fact, he did little as she teetered on the log, as doing little was his best course of action to prevent an unspeakably nasty skirmish from breaking out.

"Now, to be honest, I'm kinda bummed you took the sandwich. It _was_ pretty tasty, I'll bet," Bonnie opined while gazing at Angel's deep dark eyes. Angel resumed a low and — for Stitch at least — an objectively terrifying growl. "Tell ya what, though…." A dangerous grin slithered up Bonnie's face. "You can make it up to me by lettin' _me_ spin the next story."

" _Gaba?_ "

"Yeah, I've got a good one for ya! Just let our yellow friend there know that I should be, eh, _prioritized_ on his list." With a wink, she flew from the log and back toward her own seat, which Clyde had guarded with great vigor.

Stitch shouted out to Reuben and relayed the message. Reuben was not amused. "What! No way, man! That's an _awful_ idea—"

"Aw, don't be such a _spoilsport_!" Bonnie chimed in. "Besides, what do you care?" Her tone smoothed. It almost tasted saccharine. "It's not really your problem, is it? I'm sure there's a nice sandwich around that needs eating — why don't you go about getting that done?"

Bonnie's persuasion always made Stitch shiver. He recognized when she poured on the honey, and it clung with an impressive determination. Despite his ardent stance, Reuben was obviously contemplating her point. A few moments passed before he offered an indignant shrug. "Eh, I suppose so. Just—y'know, don't tell a bad story."

"Would I ever do that?" she laughed while she spoke. Reuben slumped down on the stump, apparently too sandwich-deprived to argue.

Bonnie wisely waited a minute for Nani to return with fresh snacks. After the jovial shouts gave way to munching and gnawing, she opened. "I've been thinkin' about Nani's story, and I like it and all, don't get me wrong. But there's something…naw, y'know, I just don't believe that our blue friend here would be like that at all!"

Lilo, who had spent the previous few minutes staring at a couple of scintillating stars, added her thoughts. "But you said her story was good…."

"And it was — for fiction. But really, given his past and his certain, eh, _propensities_ , I think our buddy here would fit in much better as a... I dunno, a marauder, or —"

Shouts from around the campfire. "A rogue?"

"A ruffian?"

"Renegade Stitch!"

"Perfect!" Bonnie clapped while Stitch sighed. She continued eagerly. "Renegade Stitch, roving the galaxy, living on no one else's terms. Yeah, this'll be more like you, I bet."

 _Chapter 3_

 _Bonnie's Story_

Clyde murmured excitedly, and pushed forward toward the ring. She waved him off with a stern finger.

"No Clyde, don't even try. You know telling stories isn't your thing. Just sit there, and try to keep _that one_ off'a me."

Reuben did not look amused when she singled him out. He had commandeered a platter of sandwiches, a few of which were held loosely between his fingers. Those few sandwiches were set down, and he shifted fitfully on the stump. Stitch was almost positive his cousin was going to leap for Bonnie's throat. Though, with Clyde staring Reuben down with laser-like precision, that outcome dwindled in likeliness fairly quickly. Bonnie gave a smirk, and Reuben resumed his meal.

"Hmm, now let's see, where to begin…." She snapped. "Ah!"

 _Buried deep underground on the galactic capital world of Turo is a vault. A vault full of items of immeasurable value. The wealth of a galaxy, sealed away. They think it to be safe, secure, untouchable. They're wrong._

 _The old red ship, bearing burns marks — the scars of battle — buzzes the outer orbit of Turo. Inside, a creature rejected by all those on Turo dials in the landing sequence. Clothed in a beefed-up prison outfit, once a hideous orange, now dyed pitch black, he adjusts the folds between his belly, tugging the fabric with purpose. Conviction. He smirks, brandishing daggers for teeth, as he slips past the orbital defense systems and descends through the atmosphere._

' _It's been too long,' he thinks as the landing legs touch down on hardened steel. Immediately, a few guards approach — no matter for him. They near the cockpit door, their weapons still deciding whether to stand and shoot or fall away to their masters' sides._

" _Come out of there!" the guards' hoarse voices shout. "This is a restricted area!"_

 _He chuckles, nearly maniacal. Almost as maniacal as the day he freed himself from their prison. From their system. After breaking out of foolproof restraints and commandeering the old red ship, he had planet-hopped through the galaxy, scraping by on odd jobs where nobody asked where you came from. The arrest warrant had appeared almost as soon as he had first hit the hyperdrive. He had hidden from the long arm of Federation law for who-knows-how-many cycles, almost always effortlessly dodging the bounty hunters who eventually caught up to him, still slobbering over the sizable reward on his head. 'The ultimate weapon,' he sneers. 'They think I'm theirs for the taking.' They're wrong._

 _The blue ears emerge first. Nicked and damaged from close calls on planets across the sectors. He's proud of each scar, each imperfection. He can tell they see them. Their gasps give them away. The clatter of weapons making their decisions. 'Not fast enough.'_

" _Backup to our location. It's him! We need — urk!" They'll be asleep for a while. Plenty long enough to conclude his business. 'Can't let them ruin it.' Outside the ship, he waits for more of them. They don't show. No one heard their message. 'Thanks, Jumba,' he winks to nobody. The tracker pings from his hip. He flips open the shiny red disk. An arrow points the way. He follows._

 _Through a heavy steel barricade, and into the tunnels. A network of tunnels, honeycombing the Turan earth. He had heard of these tunnels — glimpsed through memories of barflies and squatters, the displaced and despondent. His travels around the galaxy had taken him to many a sad story, all aching to be told and eager to see justice done. To reclaim what was once theirs. And the vault, with treasures waiting to be seized. He always salivated at the thought of what lay within, and what it would mean for him. What it could change for him._

 _Down, down into the Turan deep. It's cold, so far down. Eventually, it would heat up. He hums a tune as he walked, his claws clacking against the metallic grating on the floor. The notes of his song bounce around, travel far ahead, announcing his presence to those who wait for him._

 _A nomad. An outcast. No home, no place to go. Maybe it should've bothered him. Maybe he was missing out on…something. Who knows — maybe he was. But it didn't faze him. Especially not now. 'Work to do.'_

 _His head buzzing, he listens, focuses on the hallway. His notes sound hollower. 'The end of the road.' He smiles and returns the disk to his pocket._

 _A note answers. 'They made it.' His journey had taken him far and wide. He had met others. Others like him. Others who had to hide. He had been tired of hiding. So had they._

"Look! A shooting star!" Lilo's non sequitur was the first to break through Bonnie's spellbinding account. The little girl's voice carried far in the calm air, and soon, hundreds of sets of eyes followed the illuminated tail of dust — mostly white save for an impossibly thin streak of green through its center — that streaked through the starry night. Even Bonnie's mouth fell open a little as the interstellar motes shimmered in her eyes. He could not be sure, but Stitch thought he saw the tiniest twitch of smug satisfaction upturn Reuben's lips.

"Ya good, Lilo?" Bonnie asked once she had regained her composure.

"…uh, yeah, sorry…."

 _He walks into the chamber — it's warm — far below the capitol. Below the place where they had banished him. It still rings hollow, the sound of being in this place. They had treated him so poorly, so cruelly — and here he was now, ready to exact his vengeance._

"Vengeance? That's kinda _mean_ , Bonnie."

"Well…they were mean to him, y'know, but hang on—"

"No, I don't think he'd want _vengeance_ , that's harsh."

"Would ya just hang on —"

"Hmm, yeah I agree, I don't think…."

If Reuben's look before had been satisfaction, this one was all-out joy. Stitch furrowed his brow and wondered why his cousin was deriving such pleasure from Bonnie's pleas —or, more appropriately, demands — to continue her story. The whole circle had jumped in, and soon, loud musings from the jungle entered the verbal fray. From what Stitch could gather out of the melee, it seemed many of his cousins did not see him as vengeful or mean — heartwarming for him, to be sure. But, a tiny bit of him wanted to hear what Renegade Stitch was up to, what a mean streak could mean. A tiny bit of him rather liked the idea.

"Alright, alright! Just hang on and lemme tell it, alright?" Bonnie was obviously agitated, and her frustration manifested in her tone that did end up dampening the noise around the fire. A fire that was dimming. Stitch fulfilled his poking duties as Bonnie cleared her throat. "Hmm, gee, thanks everyone. Now then…."

 _With no security systems, no computers, no technology operational for the Federation— 'Thanks again, Jumba' — reaching the vault proves terrifically easy. He had passed a few more guards, already subdued, slumped against the curving wall. He could hear the chatter of the ones who had made it there, waiting for him. They greet him with smiles and laughs._

" _Hey there, champ. Welcome to the party."_

"Aw, c'mon! I don't wanna be your story!" Reuben spat out a cloud of crumbs with his protest.

And Bonnie was furious — there was no denying it. "Are you _kidding me_? I—I can't even—" She rubbed her temples and growled at the one-too-many interruption. "Y'know what, man? I'm gonna change my story up here. I _was_ going to give him a team to work with, a Merry Band of Experiments or whatever. But now — it's just him."

The jungle noise rose with her temper. Shouts and pleas to be included were met with steadfast crossed arms. "Nope, nuh-uh, just him now. You can thank _him_ for that!"

Reuben was pelted with bread crusts and chip bags — though many of those sailed off in the wind before doing any real physical harm. But, looking at Reuben munching away on a Reuben sandwich, mental harm seemed to avoid him, too. "Meh," he managed through a full mouth. "Better this way."

From behind, Stitch picked up Pleakley muttering to Jumba. "…actually makes a bit of sense. A rogue or a renegade wouldn't be much of a team player anyway." Jumba guffawed and congratulated Pleakley's clever observation with a smack on the back, eliciting the usual tired _oof_ from the pale alien.

"But I will leave Jumba in," Bonnie noted before launching once more into her story. "Old times' sake." Jumba muffled his cheer.

 _He hums his note. Silence responds. 'Perfect — thank you Jumba.' He passes by unconscious guards, put to sleep by a few hacked systems, redirected gases, and poor ventilation. They're clad in white armor, from ear tips to tail tips, their weapons — black, yellow, orange — peaceful next to them. He stops to peer into the blackened visor. To see the face of the Federation. It looks terrified._

 _It gnaws at him as he enters the chamber — it's so warm. He loosens his outfit's grip on his wrists, rolling back sleeves to expose sapphire fur to the stale air. He flexes his muscles, stretching his back. Ahead sits the iron door, sealed tight against the stale air. "You will need to move mountains to reach it," a vagrant Meridian had informed him. 'And so I have.'_

 _Doors line the hallway to the vault. Some doors are open, baring their rooms' secrets. He peers inside. Cots, blankets, bottles — the basics of living. The guards' quarters were sparse, so empty next to the vault that was so full. He shakes the wandering from his mind. 'Work to do.'_

 _The vault door looks menacing, imposing. It isn't. Another 'Thank you, Jumba' as the laser cutter fulfills its task. The locks fall away — rusted and ancient. He ponders why it's so old. And then he doesn't care. His claws latch into the handle. He pulls. His strength is incredible — the door squeals across the hardened stone underfoot._

 _It's halfway open. Fresh air leaks through the gaps. It brings the smell of treasure. Of victory. A voice rises above the screech._

" _I knew you'd be here sooner or later, trog."_

"You put _Gantu_ in it? Over all of us, you put _Gantu_ in it!" Stitch was unsure who first raised the issue, but it quickly became quite the heated exchange. At first, Bonnie was sweet, working to ameliorate the problem — it seemed to Stitch that she had gotten out enough of her story to calm her seething rage. When that did not stem the tide of comments, however, she became much feistier.

"No! Gave you all a chance, and it didn't happen. I'm puttin' in whoever I wanna! No, don't even bother with the begging!"

Stitch found Angel as the fracas brewed in the background. She caught him looking, and batted her eyelashes. Stitch smiled back and snatched her paw. In the frothing chaos of disbelief at the inclusion of Gantu in Bonnie's tale, Stitch and Angel, together on their log, floated in a pool of serenity. She had been floating with him for a long time, but he had been too dense to notice, instead frantically paddling and splashing around, trying to buoy his other cousins as they discovered their places. Yet, despite his flailing stupidity, she had floated along patiently. It was humbling when he had finally, painfully, come to his senses. Fortunately, she had been there to ease the pain of idiocy.

She leaned in. The fire cast spots of fiery orange across her deep dark eyes. Stitch readied himself. And then she spoke. " _Meega_ like renegade _boojiboo_."

He was on top of the log, paddling his arms through the din. He urged and pleaded to give Bonnie the chance to resume her story. And they all listened. The din receded, Bonnie thanked him with an eye roll, and she continued.

' _Choota…Gantu!' his mind swears as he spins to face his foe. Unceremoniously removed from his position after the breakout, Gantu had fallen on difficult times. Poor and broken by the system, he sought to get around it, over it. Bounty hunting had proven lucrative — as much as not starving is lucrative. They had had several close calls and small scrapes, but he had always gotten away clean, leaving Gantu stomping his oversized feet in the dirt of several planets' surfaces._

" _You've escaped too many times before. But down here…this is my turf. You won't be leaving here with your freedom, abomination!"_

 _Gantu storms, furious and unrelenting. Oversized feet pummel the metal flooring, send the rock shivering. He had seen this move on several planets before. 'Predictable.'_

 _He vaults into the air. Somersaults over the bumbling bounty hunter. 'Easy.' Fat fingers snare the nape of his neck._

" _Not high enough, trog."_

 _The ground meets him faster than expected. It's more solid than he expected, too._

" _Down here, you're mine."_

 _He wriggles free, planting his feet to sprint under huge legs. Dodges and weaves the flying hands, passes underneath. The vault, half-open, lies ahead. The folds in his pitch black uniform hold him back. Fat fingers trap them._

" _And not fast enough, either. You've lost a bit of your luster, trog." Gantu wrangles him in, brings him to eye level. "I'm going to enjoy this."_

 _The laugh, fully maniacal, follows the glob of spit onto Gantu's nose. A deep growl — the years of service, the prestige and position, all lost to this trog — and he's on the ground, able to duck away from half of Gantu's punches. He's hardy, built that way, but not invincible."_

"Boy, y'know, sure would be helpful right about now if he had a _team_ , wouldn't it?" Bonnie broke her own narrative to slight Reuben. "If only _someone_ hadn't ruined it."

A renewed, though more subdued, chorus of boos poured from the jungle. Reuben easily shushed them with a free hand. "Nah, blue guy's pretty tough. Let's see what he's got, yeah?"

When Bonnie stopped talking, Stitch noticed Angel squeezing his forearm. Not painfully, but just enough to convey her concern. "Only a story," he whispered into her ear. She grunted her understanding, but squeezed harder.

" _Why did you come back here, trog?" Gantu spits between hits. "You know you hate this place. I do too. So why? Why are you here?"_

 _A cloud of dust had risen and obscured Gantu's punching bag. His punches had started to ring hollow, but he hadn't noticed until no one answered his question. He ceases hitting. The dust clears. "Where are you!" Gantu bellows._

 _The laughter, maniacal, springs from the vault. Gantu swivels. Wide-eyed, enraged, Gantu stares. He laughs again._

" _Trog!" Thunder approaches him. Oversized feet close in on their quarry. He yawns. "Here to steal from me again! Take away my bounty! You've already taken everything! You little monster!" Fat fingers stretch, clenching, ready to tear apart._

 _Three thousand times his body weight. Many things in the galaxy are heavier. Many things are not. The vault door is not. 'Thank you, Jumba.'_

"Is my pleasure, Six-Two-Six!" Jumba failed to restrain the outburst. Oddly, Bonnie seemed not to mind. In fact, she giggled, though it was barely noticeable. The only ones who could catch it would need to be paying close attention. Stitch had been. She winked at him, and then continued.

 _Gantu's spit-spattered nose gives in. The hunter crumples to the metal ground, groans and moans. He stands over, holding back the laughter. Points a claw. "Yuuga wrong."_

 _He whips out the red disk and presses some spots on the screen. It will take a few minutes to arrive. Plenty of time to find what he needs. Even in the massive vault, filled to the top with a galaxy's riches, he would have plenty of time._

 _He can only hold so much. Strategy is key. He had planned out the pieces he wanted, the ones that would truly make a difference. He passes up gold, jewels, stacks of currency and credits. Toward the rear, a set of consoles hum. He expertly handles the keyboard. Screens fill with data — numbers, currency signs, contracts._

' _The debt of a thousand planets.' Ledgers for almost every populated planet in the galaxy load up. Stakes of ownership in worlds — and in people who live on those worlds — locked away in a vault on Turo. Locked away in the Federation's grasp. He sees the tears of the despondent and destitute, hears their cries. Eager for justice. They all want back what was once theirs._

 _The delete key won't be enough. He must bring them proof. He presses a few more buttons. Crystal tablets, etched with the deeds of ownership, eject from ports on the side. They're heavy, even for him. He hopes he'll have enough room._

 _The clatter of gold ingots tumbling down their pyramids. The red disk chirps. He turns. His ship, with burn marks on its sides, stands ready by the vault door, barely fitting through the tunnels deep underground. He can't stop the smile that rises._

 _A few trips later, deeds for a thousand worlds are packed into his ship. He swipes the consoles with sharpened claws, and flashes daggers for teeth as they spark and sputter into silence. He treks back, the ship waiting patiently. He grabs a gold ingot or two — 'travel expenses' — and hops into the cockpit. Gantu had squirmed out of the way at some point, leaving the path clear. The tunnel whips by. Rock turns to sky. The atmosphere gives way to space._

 _The computer automatically plots the best path. He has many stops to make. The hyperdrive warms up for the long journey. He looks out across the blackness, dotted with far off points of light which warm a thousand worlds and more._

 _The Federation will not be pleased. They already think him a monster. And now they will think him a thief who was out to take what they believed was theirs. They're wrong. It was never theirs to begin with._

 _He holds a tablet in his hand. It shimmers in the cabin light. Through it, he sees his pitch black outfit, the old prison uniform. Their prison. Their system. It had left him with no home. Nowhere to go — a nomad, an outcast. He had wondered if he was missing…something._

 _Behind him, the deeds for a thousand homes shimmer in the cabin light. He smiles. Bright. "Home…." The hyperdrive fires. The universe bends around him. "Galaxy isa meega home."_

Clyde was the first to clap — not surprising to those around the dimmed fire. Stitch worked his magic on the flames as a round of applause rose and fell for Bonnie. She soaked in every second of it, waving like royalty from her stolen spot on the log. "See! I didn't say he wouldn't be _good_. It was just a different way of gettin' there, is all — with a little _renegade_ style!"

Reuben huffed. "Yeah, some style."

She was already drunk on her laurels, obvious by her lack of snapping back at him. "Oh, c'mon now, can't ya just…enjoy it, Reuben? Just a little bit?"

Reuben ate a lot of his sandwich before waving dismissively at her, and then squirming to his feet on top of the stump. "Alright, everyone, that was a…story, for sure."

"Ach! Be giving her bit more credit, Six-Two Five!" Jumba jumped to Bonnie's side. She thoroughly enjoyed the additional support, and grinned when Reuben called for — and received — another round of applause for her.

Reuben opened his mouth, but Lilo's voice came out. "Hey!" Everyone turned to the little girl, who had been pretty reserved since pointing out the nighttime light show. "What happened to that shooting star?"

"What are you meaning, little girl? Shooting stars are shooting. They burn up in atmosphere, disintegrate. Is their job."

Lilo appeared unsatisfied with Jumba's reply. She crinkled her nose and gazed above again. "But it was up there for a long time. It was _really_ slow, and it left that green trail, and then went into the trees, and then—"

"Okay, okay there! You are letting imagination be running wild!" Jumba sauntered over and patted her shoulder. "Is nothing! Now let us be getting back to stories— eh, Six-Two-Five, who is next?"

Stitch squinted through the campfire. He had known Jumba for a considerable amount of time. By now, the scientist's little tics and stutters were dead giveaways. He stood up. "Why Jumba lying?"

"Wha— you are being mistaken, Six-Two-Six! Jumba is not lying, he's—"

"Lying!"

Hundreds of eyes watched the four beady ones that were widening by the second. Beads of sweat rolled down Jumba's forehead. "I—heh, I'm not, eh…."

"What is it, Jumba?" the jungle almost said in unison.

A heavy sigh passed his lips. "Did not want to be worrying everyone on this special occasion, but…." Four beady eyes scanned the campfire crowd. Eyes that knew something bad was coming.

"Has anyone been watching galactic news recently?"

#


	4. Chapter 4 - For Batwing17

**_This chapter originates from a submission from Batwing17, who wanted to see Leroy tell a story about Stitch and Angel. It ended up being a little longer than I had anticipated, but this chapter was perhaps one of my all-time favorites to write. Thanks for Batwing17 for the suggestion, and please enjoy!_**

 ** _If you have a submission idea of your own, please add it in the Reviews section, or feel free to PM directly. ~ Euphonemes_**

* * *

 _The Fire of Futures Past_

"He _what_!"

Jumba's flummoxed mouth hung agape. His omission exposed, it seemed he had run out of justifications for withholding the information. Stitch thought Lilo's outburst would make sure to remind him of that.

"How! How did he get out?" Pleakley's panicked voice wailed. His pale tentacles quivered as he skirted the border around the fire. "Tell us how!"

"Ehm…galactic media was not very forthcoming with that information. Or, more likely, they are not knowing."

"Well should we do something then?" Pleakley was frantic now, stirring up the Experiments who rested in the jungle. The circle around the campfire was calmer than Stitch would have expected, given the news Jumba had just relayed. Though, with Angel now crushing his forearm, he suspected their placidity would not last. "We need to prepare for battle, or war — we need snacks! More snacks! Sandwiches and chips and—"

With surprising agility, Jumba bounded over to Pleakley and hoisted him by his shoulders into the air. "Be getting grip on self, Pleakley! Can't have you be panicking — you'll frighten everyone!" It sounded like Jumba had hoped his admonition would be delivered in a harsh whisper, but his words carried rather well in the night. He set down Pleakley, who seemed to recover a semblance of composure, and rubbed the back of his wide mauve head. "Eh, is all fine, everyone! No need to be worrying!"

The Experiments pushed back, demanding more intelligence on the situation. Jumba tried to best to defend, but was outmanned and outgunned. Eventually, he dropped his shoulders in acquiescence. "Okay then, my apologies! I know nothing important yet, but will be keeping a lookout."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Lilo's pointed question made Jumba pause. The rest of the group paused with him.

"Did not want to be interrupting story, little girl."

"What!" Pleakley was starting up again.

"Besides, I am highly doubtful Leroy will be making his way to Earth."

Stitch shuddered. He could feel his evil twin's hot breath, escaping past jutting canine teeth, creeping down the back of his neck. His crimson fur transformed before Stitch's eyes as Leroy stole Stitch's form, his identity. _His_ _English leaves something to be desired_ , Stitch mused, but beyond that, he was deeply troubled by this turn of events. He knew Leroy was plenty crafty to outfox Federation guards, and now that he was freed, little could stop Leroy on whatever mission he sought out. _But will it be vengeance?_

"And what makes you so sure?"

Jumba must have been tiring from serving as the subject of Lilo's incisive interrogation. He passed a loud and discontented sigh before answering. "Is big galaxy. Lots of other worlds for evil Leroy to go and conquer. No reason to be coming here."

"Apart from _him?_ " The finger directed Jumba's four eyes to Stitch's now-shaking frame. He sensed Angel tense up. Stitch figured the realization of Leroy's escape and his potential plans had just struck her. She groaned in a deep tone of concern, seasoned with a splash of anger.

"Bah! Leroy won't be coming for Six-Two-Six —he was beaten last time, and Six-Two-Six can do it again. Right?"

All Stitch could offer was a conciliatory smile before Cobra stormed from the house, aloha shirt flapping in the rush of air. The agent was folding up his cell phone, and without the trademark sunglasses, Stitch could see the purpose smoldering in his eyes. "Langley called. They know about Leroy. The Federation has contacted our agency, and a pacification force is on the way here. They think Leroy is coming for _him_." Another finger directed everyone's gaze to Stitch, who by this point was irked at being called out again.

Stitch opened his mouth to speak his bothered mind, but Pleakley interceded. "When! When will they be here!"

"Not soon enough, I'll bet." Cobra's velvet voice usually had a way of mollifying whatever bad news he could deliver — not so tonight. Fear was rising, a thick fog that clung to everyone around the campfire. Even the flames were dimming, suppressed by the fog of fear. Stitch redirected his attention to fire-tending, which had little positive effect for his mind running amok with potential problems.

"Ach — Leroy is _not_ coming here! Is not happening!" Stitch wondered if Jumba's insistent rejection of everyone else's theory was fueled more by guilt for not telling the group about Leroy's escape, rather than his conclusion merely being—most likely, at least—wrong. After Leroy's first trip to Earth, the mention of him always exacerbated some sore spot of Jumba's, something that Stitch and the other Experiments had learned about and exploited when the occasion called.

"HQ isn't so sure." Cobra twiddled the cell phone between his meaty palms. "Tracking stations across the islands picked up an object a short while ago. At first, they thought it was a—"

"Shooting star!" Lilo finished. The group, everyone in the group, went wide-eyed simultaneously.

"Well…maybe it really is being shooting star? Your idiot human systems may be too pathetic to tell difference?" Jumba was grasping at straws. And sinking fast.

Lilo had something to say about that, too. "Oh yeah? And what left that glowing green trail then?"

"…dust?"

Like dust, Jumba's argument disintegrated and blew away in the rising night wind. It swirled around as Experiments who, now having this terrible truth foisted upon them, prepared themselves for what seemed an inevitability. Snacks were devoured in droves. Stitch batted away a few of his cousins who had taken it upon themselves to douse his fire. The whole group pressed inward, gathering together for protection. Stitch could feel them getting closer, and though it felt mildly constricting, he could sense his family standing up for him and supporting him — a warm and fuzzy feeling bubbled up in his gut.

"Oh, should I go get the record player?" Nani had been milling about, picking up some of the mess hastily eaten sandwiches had left behind. "I have that song on vinyl, somewhere—"

"Uh…too late."

The growl arrived first. Loud, low, ludicrously terrifying, it sent a shiver undulating through the mass of cousins. The whole group shifted away from the tree line, with experiments crowding up and crushing upon limited real estate. Glowing blood red eyes eventually made their way into view. Stitch could smell the dirtied crimson fur and the hot breath escaping past jutting canine teeth. A few crunches of branches underfoot, and there, on the edge of the campfire circle, stood Leroy.

"Hmm, guess I am being wrong."

To their credit, his cousins did not panic — well, not outright, anyway. Together, against one and only one Leroy, they held their ground, even as the crimson experiment sniffed and snorted, seeking out some target. For a moment, Stitch was baffled. His sapphire coat was obviously visible, and he was clearly raring to fight, yet Leroy had not wandered over to him. Instead, Leroy scratched at the ground and spun in tight circles.

The dearth of plasma blasts, of explosions, and of maniacal cackling was both relieving and worrying for Stitch. His blood had been pumping to prepare for an imminent and violent showdown, but now, with the crimson menace stumbling and bumbling between clusters of cousins, Stitch's heart slowed considerably. Many of his cousins were scratching their heads and murmuring among themselves. Yet, perhaps most surprisingly, out of the crowd rose not fear or panic, but rather compassion.

"Is…is he alright?"

"Does he have head trauma or something?"

"Betcha his ship crashin' was pretty tough on him — looked pretty bad in the sky."

"Maybe we should…help?"

Stitch felt the crushing pressure ease, and the group began to bounce back. They enfolded the crimson one within the wide circle, hands guiding him toward the inner circle. Initially, those hands guided him toward Bonnie's seat. She was not happy with this decision.

"Not. A. Chance. Get 'im away from me! Go—shoo!— go that way!"

A few more passed him along, until eventually, he came to rest at Reuben's stump. Of anyone, Reuben appeared the least perturbed. "Hey there, champ. C'mon and sit down, take a load off." The blood red glow of Leroy's eyes had faded, leaving behind cinders that captured the glint of a mellow campfire. He sat down next to Reuben with no fuss. Stitch's _ohana_ sat down into a quagmire of confusion.

"Ehm…" Jumba confidently opened, "Leroy, are you feeling, um, alright?"

Leroy picked at some sparse blades of grass. Glassy eyes gleamed as he stared at the ground. Small growls would leap from his throat, only to be dammed up at the last moment.

Cobra shifted from his spot and plodded toward the door. When Nani asked where he thought he was headed, Cobra looked back over his shoulder and muttered, "I have a phone call to make." Cobra's apparent lack of concern for the threat Leroy could pose further eased the crowd. More pleasant chatter arose, and a few more daring cousins tried speaking to Leroy, whose distant gaze would remain unbroken.

It would take Lilo moving from her log and buddying up to Leroy to get a word from him. Stitch leaned forward as she drew nearer to the crimson experiment. Angel barely restrained him, perhaps sharing in his eagerness to protect Lilo.

"Hey Leroy, so before you got here, we were telling stories to each other. They've been about Stitch, and what would've happened if he hadn't gotten here."

His gruff voice was a gurgle, the sound of words struggling to form. Eventually, they — or it, rather — coalesced. "Stories?"

A hushed gasp cycled through the group. Even Stitch was forced to admit he had been caught off guard. Lilo offered a reassuring smile in response. _She has him now_.

"Yeah, stories! We've been making them up as we go along, just something to pass the time, and to enjoy the company." She paused for a breath or two, enough time for Leroy — interest obviously piqued — to bring his head up. She followed her expert break with, "Say, would _you_ like to make a story, Leroy?"

The crowd reacted poorly to her offer. Protesting squawks and squeals abounded. Several pointed to Reuben, unwisely expecting him to stand up and enforce the ordered list they had tried to pull together. In the midst of the noise, Reuben extended his arm toward the nearest platter, and then handed Leroy a ham-and-Swiss on rye. An appreciative growl preceded the munching.

"Hey!" Lilo called for calm. "Leave him alone — looks like he had a rough day, haven't you?" After he nodded vigorously, she added, "I think it'd be nice to give him a chance to be included. I bet you can make a _great_ story, Leroy!" The crowd sounded less sure, but their cries did recede.

"…yeah, breaking out of prison probably constitutes a rough day…" Pleakley uttered under his breath, most likely not planning on anyone hearing it — Stitch quite enjoyed his impressively sensitive ears. "Ohh…this is a _bad idea_ , very bad…."

"So do you have a story, Leroy? Something to say?" Lilo could be unflappably persistent, and eventually, she would erode just about anyone's patience. Leroy already appeared too tired or befuddled to argue with her, and so he drew his legs toward his chest and sat, scrunching his nose and tapping a canine tooth with a dangerously sharp claw. Over a minute passed before the cinders reignited, and bright and clear eyes shimmered in the flames.

" _Ikata!_ " his gruff voice proclaimed with a sudden swell of confidence. " _Meega_ have a story. _Isa_ good one, definitely!"

 _Chapter 4_

 _Leroy's Story_

"Have had time to think of good story ever since…um…."

"Your incarceration?" Pleakley helpfully offered.

" _Ih_. Had idea about _them_." A sharp claw pointed at the blue-and-pink duo seated together on a log. Both let out a tiny gasp.

"Oh really?" Lilo egged him on. "Well then, do tell."

Stitch waggled his hands, begging to not have the story involve Angel. She, on the other hand, looked undeniably intrigued at the prospect. She flung her arms around Stitch in a warm embrace, and locked his hands to his torso while Leroy cleared his throat.

 _They said genetic engineering was evil. That we had no business tampering with nature. The billions of people Jumba and I saved from untimely deaths would probably disagree. And there was certainly business to be had with that._

"Wow!" Bonnie exclaimed. "I'll admit—I'm a little surprised he's so eloquent."

 _Yeah, they were all like, "No you can't do that" but I was like, "Rawr, yeah, I can! Duh!"_

"Nope, never mind. Not surprised anymore."

" _Soka_ …" Leroy hissed while rubbing his temples. "Bad hit on head." He cleared his throat again, inhaled deeply for a few counts, and then resumed.

 _It had taken a long time to convince the Federation that the outright ban on genetic experimentation was ill-advised. They had granted me my freedom, and Jumba's too, as the political tide shifted in our favor. Fresh out of the tribunal, we immediately set to work on repealing the law. We moved mountains — and had a lot of help doing it — and eventually, the Federation came to their senses._

 _They didn't lift all their provisions — in fact, I think I may still technically have been illegal — but they opened enough of a window for Jumba and me to jump through. He couldn't go back to Galaxy Defense Industries, but then, he didn't really want to. Something about the fight for my existence, for the validation of his work, changed Jumba. The "evil" part of his evil science sloughed off. He adopted a new view on science, and what it could do for the galaxy — not for conquering, but for helping._

 _That was the spirit we incorporated when we launched GeneGalactic. Small firm, small team, big dreams. With more leeway on genetic experimentation, we sought out the worst genetic diseases the galaxy had even seen, and then created the means to eliminate them. Across the sectors, there were villages, cities, whole planets even, who all suffered under the yoke of bad genes. In a short time, with Jumba's expertise and my unique set of skills (my supercomputer brain was good for something, I guess), GeneGalactic blossomed into a galaxy-spanning entity. The money came with it, of course, but that meant little to me. I was always happy to see the look on someone's face when they found out their incurable disease could be wiped away with one syringe. That was enough for me. Or so I thought it was._

 _The annual shareholder meeting was a few days away. We had seen exponential growth, and were projected to continue moving onward and upward. It was planned to be a run-of-the-mill event: a couple pretty speeches, some graphs and numbers, and they all would applaud and send us on our merry way. And while I sat in the plush Meridian leather chair behind my rather plain crystal desk, that's what I was preparing for. Simple, easy, and a little fun, too._

" _Sir?" my assistant's voice buzzed through the intercom. "Don't forget about the investor mixer. It starts shortly. And you are expected to attend."_

 _I let the long sigh pass before I thanked her through the speaker. "Hate mixers…" I muttered while I shuffled documents across screens. I had undone a few buttons on my cherry red jacket — my favorite one — as I had slaved over the copy of my speech. Forgetting the basics of decorum was second nature for me, so before I let it slip by, I hastily redid the buttons before I slid indelicately from my comfy chair. The lift ride down would use up whatever time remained._

 _I waved to my assistant, who pressured me toward the elevator entrance. On the way down, through the glass tubing, I watched Turo rise up to meet me. Turo had seemed the best place to organize, once the genetic ban had been lifted, of course. Right in the heart of it all, with plenty of room to expand. And expand we did. From the one-floor loft near the top of a skyscraper, we had then bought the skyscraper, and then the five surrounding skyscrapers. Outside of the Federation's governing body housed next door, we were the largest employer on the planet._

 _The lift let out into our expansive lobby, decorated in traditional Turan austerity. I never much cared for it. The investors had already gathered in their seemingly prescribed circles, chattering away over hors d'oeuvres. I tugged on the collar of my jacket — the lobby suddenly felt like the inside of a volcano. I had practiced my speaking skills over and over again, but whenever this time of year approached, I always grew a little extra nervous. Fortunately, a familiar face spotted me and dragged me over to the group he was entertaining._

" _Ach — our CEO is here! Please, Six-Two-Six, come and be meeting my new friends!" Jumba exclaimed._

"Stitch as a CEO! Now _that_ has to be the most ridiculous…thing…I ever…heard of…" Pleakley trailed off as Leroy's growl amplified. Even in his more subdued state, Leroy could still muster enough energy to play the vicious beast. Pleakley intelligently switched his tone. "But it's great! I think ridiculous is—great, just great. Please, keep going…don't-hurt-me…."

Leroy smiled, which was a scarier sight than it should have been, before obliging Pleakley.

 _I managed to smile and shake hands with the whole lot. Exhausting work, especially when every word requires so much forethought and focus. I had just about wrapped up the event, and was headed back to the lift, when I saw her._

 _After the genetic ban had been lifted, Jumba's other experiments came to light. They had also been granted reprieves, and were freed from their dehydrated domiciles. They had all spread across the galaxy, finding places where they fit in. Jumba and I kept track of most of them, and they had all been doing well for themselves._

 _But her…she was someone different. I had seen her on the galactic extranet. Her voice was spectacular. Truly mesmerizing. Part of that was by design — I had read Jumba's notes. But the way she used her gift, she could sing some of the most beautiful and soul-touching songs. We have a word for someone like her on Turo: "ajira."_

" _An angel," I hear myself say. I was not the only one who thought this — in fact, she had adopted Angel as her stage name sometime long ago. And Angel moved with such an elegance. Coils of pink fur poured luxuriously down her back, covering her glittering sequined evening gown. Her beautiful dark eyes glittered even more brightly as she laughed softly within her circle. Her gift had made her famous on hundreds of planets. It had made her fabulously wealthy, too, which is most likely why she was at this investor mixer. At least, I prayed that was the reason._

 _Her circle dispersed as I approached. There, Angel stood, divinity itself in my lobby. Talk of quarterly earnings or Turan regulations disintegrated in her presence. New thoughts sprang up, took form and blossomed. The sonnet was writing itself in my brain. Oh, I had the most exquisite words selected for her, something to convey the absolute joy that burst forth from my heart when I first saw her gracing all of us with her unequaled presence._

 _If only I had actually said all that._

" _Batookah!" she greeted me in that angelic voice. I breathed deeply, catching wisps of her indescribably sweet perfume, and summoned from within me my most commanding yet congenial tone, and I spoke._

"… _blech!"_

 _Instantly, my mind hounded me. 'Blech? Is that—is that even a word? I'm the chief executive of a galaxy-spanning business empire, and I open with blech! What!'_

 _I expected a quizzical stare, a nose-wrinkle of disgust, or even a harrumph as she twirled away in that glittering dress. Yet, after my oh-so-strong opening, and a totally appropriate silence between us, she did the unthinkable. The soft laughter rang out._

" _Yuuga funny!"_

 _And as the night went on, I ended up spouting a few more lines that she thoroughly enjoyed, even if I didn't quite plan them that way. I decided it'd be best to save my sonnet for another day and play along. She talked for most of our time together — and that was fine with me, as it appeared that talking tonight was not going to be my forte._

" _Isa_ truth!" Angel proclaimed while halting Leroy's narrative. He did not look offended, but his crimson body leaned forward impatiently while Angel spoke. " _Boojiboo_ not so good at talking." Stitch turned to protest, but shut his mouth as he remembered his real first conversation with her. This story, he thought, seemed oddly familiar. When it was clear that Stitch would have nothing to contribute, Leroy rubbed his temples vigorously before diving back into the story.

 _Our conversation had been progressing swimmingly. One by one, the other investors filed out, some to head back to one of the many Turan hotels, others on their ways to the many more clubs and pubs lining the darkened streets. From the corner of my eye, I caught Jumba's foot tapping on the cool marble floor. He had something exceedingly important to tell me, I could tell. But her voice kept me glued to the spot._

" _Yuuga like opera? Isa favorite!" she exclaimed with unbridled passion._

' _Okay now, you know what she asked you,' my already overclocked mind processed. 'It's not your favorite, you know that. But you should probably agree with her, and then say something witty about opera.'_

 _My mouth disagreed with my brain's decision, and went rogue as it had for most of the evening. "Oh, opera, so boring! Need more…explosions! Boom!" My hands went flying, and my claws were inches away from scratching her arm. If you've ever experienced time slowing down right after you nearly made a huge mistake, as the horror really starts to seep in, you'd understand how I felt right then. My stomach turned, and I tried to stay upright. It was so hot in that empty lobby — I had already undone two buttons on my jacket, and a third was imminently approaching its undoing, much like I was._

 _Somehow, she found another chuckle to give, and I was so ready to give up. To toss in the towel and head back up to my plush office chair. To get away from her magnetic pull. Yet, the twinkle in her eyes and the creases that formed around them when she laughed, they kept me rooted. I wanted it to end, and to continue without end. It was at that exact moment when I decided to ask her to dinner — well, "ask" may be too strong a word._

 _Nothing too fancy, I had told myself, but fancy enough. I already had a reservation for the next evening at one of the hottest spots on Turo — the owner was a good friend who had a knack for cooking some amazing cuisine that never really filled you up — and it would be simple to add another chair to my table of one. Of course, the biggest barrier at this point would be my own tongue and the knots it continued tying._

" _Well…meega pretty tired. Long day tomorrow, too. Takka for reception, will see yuuga soon?" Angel queried. As usual, I stood flabbergasted. I must have looked quite the fool, mouth hanging open, eagerly expecting me to put my foot in it. She hovered for an appropriate length of time before she twirled away in her glittering dress and headed for the lobby door. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jumba stepping toward me, already collecting his mental notes for whatever crisis was surely arising. My window was dwindling fast, and I begged my body to do the right thing. And for once, it sort of listened._

" _Wait!"_

 _Her eyes when she turned back to me sent a small and beautiful shiver cascading down my spine._

" _To—uh, tomorrow, um, would yuuga like to…eh…." I was scratching my scalp, but started hitting it instead, hoping I could hammer the words out. From behind, my ears picked up the taps of Jumba's feet as they neared. 'Come on mouth! Hurry up!'_

 _Fortunately, I didn't need to finish the thought that was stuck in the mud of my mind. She nodded emphatically, the luscious pink coils bobbing. "Ih! Send meega details tomorrow, oketaka?"_

 _My heart leapt from my chest. I was dizzy, euphorically dizzy. All I could manage was a smile before Jumba was upon me with overinflated fears regarding the new line of genetic testing equipment. I shot him a quick reply at first, but when I looked back to find she had left through the lobby doors, I let him regale me with the full woeful tale all the way up to my office. The whole time, the smile never fled my face._

"Oo! Oo! What happened at dinner! C'mon—what happened!" Somewhere from the crowd, Nosy was shouting out to Leroy, who bristled at the interruption. Other cousins joined in the sudden fervor of learning how Stitch was bound to bumble through his next conversation with Angel. For what it was worth, Stitch was doing his best to be a good sport about the protracted ribbing. It helped that Angel had folded her hand around his, squeezing it gently whenever he tensed.

" _Oketaka!_ " Leroy grumbled over the din. "One moment…." His temples seemed to be bothering him again, as Leroy massaged them with greater force. Dark eyes blinked in a strange pattern, and concern started welling up in Stitch's belly. Restless legs were bending, ready to move, when Angel squeezed again. Stitch stayed rooted, though uncomfortably so, as Leroy completed whatever ritual he was performing.

 _The restaurant's air was muted — busy with people, but not with conversation. A pleasant byproduct of the chef's delectable gastronomic offerings. Some smoke curled above the tables, softening the already dimmed lamps overhead. It was in this peaceful place where my noisy mind screamed in panic as she took her seat across from me._

 _I held my own through the opening round of drinks and shared appetizers. She told me how she loved to travel the stars, how she would gaze through a starship's video screens at the endless interplanetary voids and sing at nothing and everything. Her favorite show had been at a refugee camp on a planet which had just emerged from a disastrous civil war. A young denizen had asked how she could be a singer, and Angel had brought the youngling on stage to perform a short duet. Angel nearly couldn't finish the show, because she had started crying after the song ended, but the audience had cheered her on through the full set and three encores._

' _She has such a beautiful soul, too,' I thought as her eyes snagged some of the light from softened lamps. She had selected a simpler outfit for the dinner, which only made her shine even more brightly in the restaurant. Somewhat greedily, I had needed to fend off a few of her doting fans, all of whom she had wanted to chat with and take pictures. During a lull in the wave of fandom, she started asking me about my work._

" _Why do it? Seems…hard. Taking care of so many people."_

' _Okay, an easy question…we can handle this one.'_

" _Ih, it is. But meega like it. Rewarding, being able to help. Jumba really is brain behind work. Meega just get stuff to people who need it."_

 _She smiled. 'Nice job, uh, me!' And I thought I handled the next few questions with the same ease. The combination of intimate lighting, strong drinks, and a muted atmosphere conducive to thinking had proven incredibly beneficial. I told her of how we started, how our grassroots activism had somehow changed the galaxy. I told her of our growth and expansion, how we became so important._

 _I also believe she was humoring me the whole time. It seemed she was needing to feign interest — I got a little too technical at times, and a few of her polite nods were unleashed. Normally, I'd try to reduce the complexity of our genetic engineering programs, but sitting across from her…the filter was already difficult enough to maintain. Any more brainpower, and I easily would've slipped back to blech._

" _Wow…isa impressive, all of it!" Angel concluded as I wrapped up a short corporate history. "But for yuuga…." I already knew how she would end that sentence. I had to restrain my hand from physically slapping my forehead._

' _Choota, she wants to hear about me, not my business!'_

 _And sure enough, she asked. I threw on a fake smile and chuckled, buying a few precious moments in which to concoct a suitable response. I received a gift of a few more with the arrival of our entrees. They both smelled heavenly, and I watched as Angel began nibbling on the corners of her dish. My mind was still racing as I dug in._

 _When she did look up, still expecting a response, the restaurant suddenly heated. I could sense the beads of sweat trickling down the back of my head. I twiddled the top button of my favorite jacket as she looked at me unblinkingly with those twinkling eyes._

" _Ih, isa tough, working so much. It can be…" I sighed. I didn't want to breach it so early, but the word tumbled out on its own. "Lonely."_

 _Her eyes were still bright, but the twinkling fell from them. "Smish. Isa tough, too, touring galaxy and performing. Everyone wants to be friendly, but not really be achi-baba." She pushed a morsel around her plate. "For you, then, any achi-baba? Or…more?"_

" _Oh—lots! Definitely, lots!" I blurted out a half-truth. In reality, I was probably lonelier than she was. Jumba and I were on good terms, and I liked my coworkers. But, no real achi-baba for me, either. Nor was there anyone to be…more. She didn't seem to buy my answer, and her eyes stayed locked on me. Thankfully, my sapphire fur covered my beet red cheeks._

" _Lots? Well then, why no boojiboo?" she pressed. And when she said boojiboo, my façade nearly collapsed. My work had required all my concentration, all my waking hours, to build the company to this stage. I extracted such a joy from helping others, and that had always been enough. But, sitting across from her, my breath caught in my throat. In an instant, everything evaporated. Everything else that had worried me, kept me up at night, and motivated me to go forward— all of it lost in her twinkling eyes. As she finished the last bite of her dinner, I realized what I was missing._

" _Well, I'd like boojiboo, but…isa…hmm…." My head was spinning. 'Don't you quit on me now, brain!' I tried to steady myself with the table under my sweaty palms. "Isa…."_

 _Angel shoved aside her empty plate and leaned onto the tablecloth. Her eyes so near…I needed to push my chair back a little bit. She stared deeply into my eyes, into my soul. "What about meega?"_

" _Uh…."_

' _Yes! Yes! Say it!' My mind was apoplectic. I would be daft to pass up this opportunity. The restaurant grew even hotter — I didn't think that was possible. My fingers started twitching, and my claws dug into the table's soft wood._

 _She leaned back and gathered a few belongings she had strewn across the dining area. After hopping from her seat, she flashed me a wan smile and walked toward the entrance. Her angelic scent lingered in eddies that formed behind her in the smoky air._

 _It took too long for my legs to move. Of course, anything longer than instantly was too long. "Ika patootie!" I kept calling myself as I tossed some credits on the table and rushed through the door._

 _She had not gotten far, only a few steps down the moonlit Turan street. I don't think I've ever run faster than I did just then. I shouted and maniacally waved my arms. I must've looked absolutely frightening to anyone who wasn't her. I did catch her, though she definitely slowed her pace to help me out._

" _Angel—ih—I—I do—"I was panting loudly, unused to the physical exertion. The plush chair in my office had softened me, and my searing legs were making me pay for it._

" _Do what?"_

" _I—meega—uh—um…like yuuga." It arose rather sheepishly, lacking my typical verve. Oh, but it was true! It was the most truthful thing I had said in a long while. I only hoped it would be enough._

 _And I think it was enough. She smiled and invited me to hold her hand. I dried off my palms and did my best to not crush her hand as I seized it. We strolled down the street together, basking in the Turan moonlight. We passed a few streets before she began humming some tune. I think it may have been from some opera — I wouldn't know —but the angel was singing a glorious melody, and I melted with the notes into the placid night sky._

 _Her eyes twinkled again as we stopped at one intersection — a park was nearby, and moon beams streamed through a canopy consisting of a couple Turan trees. She breathed deeply while she interlaced her fingers with mine. Her lips quivered as she looked at me._

' _Go for it!' my mind urged. And for once, I listened._

Suddenly, the whole campfire crowd was laughing. Not simply the titter that arises between a few hushed comments, but full-on raucous guffaws. Cousins were rolling past Stitch, their own arms latching onto their sides. Stitch had been so enamored with the story that it required a few seconds to realize the source of such gut-busting humor.

Where a crimson pelage had once been resting, there was now sapphire blue. At some point, Leroy had shed his coat and altered his appearance to match the subject of his story. And Leroy was puckering his lips and sloppily imitating the smacks of his story's most passionate moment. Evidently, his cousins found Leroy's impression to be highly amusing — even Angel softly giggled, all while clenching Stitch's ever more heavily perspiring hand.

But even she could not hold him back as he stood and stomped forward. His cheeks were beet red underneath his sapphire fur. He burned inside and out. It took a great deal to vex Stitch, to rile him to the point of action. And Leroy had utilized the perfect combination to do so. The campfire was dimming — it had been for several minutes — but the flames flared in Stitch's eyes as he rounded the fire pit and came face-to-face with Leroy.

The laughter ceased — all but Leroy's. Besides him, only the crackles of a dying fire made a sound in the Kaua`i night. Stitch leered from three feet away while Leroy twitched with laughter in the dirt.

When Stitch opened his mouth to fire his first of many berating volleys, Leroy's laughter devolved into coughing and hacking. The twitches were more potent, and looked more painful. The fire in Stitch's eyes was being quenched as Leroy furiously grabbed his head and lolled, his body rapidly transforming back to his crimson form. Stitch flew to his aid, and other cousins assisted Leroy through the spasm, and then gently guided him into a calmer seated position.

"Augh…" Leroy mumbled as he clutched the sides of his head. "Ship's crash…was bad…need a minute." And then Leroy was out cold.

"…is he dead?" Bonnie sounded like she was asking more for her own safety than for Leroy's well-being.

Reuben checked. "Nah, he's snorin'. Probably needed a good reset. Any idea how long that'll take, Jumba?"

As the eyes fell on him, Jumba shrugged indifferently. "Meh, could be minute, could be day. Experiments engineered to heal fast, simply depends on damage done."

"Well, it couldn't have been _that_ bad," Bonnie offered. "He was telling a… _decent_ story before…this." She gestured at a crimson-covered beast sprawled out in the dirt. The failing fire cast its red hues over the scene, bringing with it an odd peace. Stitch turned back toward the flames, grabbed a thin log, and prodded the fire back to life.

The flames resurged with a blaze of brilliant yellow. Every pair of eyes squinted in the renewed light. Including Leroy's.

"Hey, he's up!"

"Hmm…" Jumba hummed as Leroy brushed off his fur, "interesting. Repairs himself much faster than Jumba had originally been planning. Quite noteworthy."

"How ya feelin', champ?" Reuben rested a goldenrod hand on a crimson shoulder. Leroy brushed it off and shuddered, sending ripples through his pelage.

"Fine. But story not over yet."

The crowd said nothing for a couple ticks. Stitch still hovered over his crimson cousin, but he was furrowing his sapphire brow, waiting for Leroy to back off, to claim it was a joke. The cindered eyes stared back with purpose and intent. Angel crooned from the log, and Stitch obliged, but as he stepped backward, he kept a sharp eye trained on Leroy.

"Well then—what is it!" shouted Nosy. Other cousins were chanting for the story to continue. Even Lilo joined in, and soon, Leroy had to work to shush them before he could finish his tale.

" _Oketaka_ , but _meega_ will be keeping it short. Head feels…woozy."

 _Dinner had gone…well. Splendidly, in fact. The next few days had then been a whirlwind. Preparations for the shareholder meeting had come and gone, and I was to be the center of it all. But something else — or rather, someone else — had taken center stage in my mind._

 _All I could think about was her. Our night in the park. The days spent gallivanting through Turo, no cares or worries to burden us, to weigh us down. Her eyes would sparkle with the setting and rising suns, and her voice — oh her voice! — I would sit so still and let myself be enraptured in her dulcet tones. Over the course of these days, talking to her had become easier, more second nature — as if she and I had been talking and laughing together for an eternity prior. On occasion, I'd still spit out something stupid, and every time I would get that soft giggle in response. It was all perfect._

 _So, naturally, it had to come crashing down._

 _Backstage, I could hear the whispers of thousands of shareholders, investors large and small from across the galaxy. They were waiting for me to take the podium and deliver my canned speech. Jumba was out there now, pumping up the crowd, warming them up for me. Of that, I was greatly appreciative._

 _Standing back there now, clutching a copy of my speech, I realized how disconnected I had been from the business. It hadn't been fair to Jumba, who had unflinchingly shouldered much more of the burden of preparation than he should have. I had been negligent, so locked up in the chase after her that I let the business slide past me._

 _Jumba had ended his speech, and tossed back the curtain dividing me from the general audience. "Okay now, Six-Two-Six, is big moment. They should be being ready for you to be delivering good news! Past few days have been being rough, I know. But remember—stick to prepared speech, focus, and you will be being fine."_

 _I didn't deserve to have him as a partner. "Takka, Jumba," I meekly replied. He nodded forcefully, and then gestured for me to make my way up to the crystal podium overlooking a sea of investors._

 _The walk was long, and it gave me time to mull Angel's sadness._

 _The investors were just filing in to the auditorium when she found me. I was fussing with my formal necktie, a monstrous contraption with six loops that needed to be carefully managed, or the whole thing would fall apart. Not content with its imperfections, I was tugging on a loop, trying not to upset it too much. When I saw her, though, I pulled, and the necktie fluttered to the floor._

 _I strode over to her in a few elated bounds. Her eyes were not twinkling as they usually did. "Angel! Meega so happy to see—"_

" _Naga, wait." Her voice sounded so plain, so humdrum. My stomach turned. She sighed loudly, nervously. "Meega like yuuga, a lot—"_

" _So do—"_

" _Naga! Wait." I fell silent, though my mind was noisy with questions. "But we cannot be boojiboo. Meega been watching business. Isa struggling without yuuga. Without touch and care of CEO." She punctuated her point with a claw tip. "As investor, meega worry business isa going to go in bad direction. Need yuuga to focus on business, on helping people."_

" _But meega am helping people!" I protested._

" _Ih, but many more need help. And…meega cannot be distraction. Soka…but…cannot be boojiboo."_

" _Naga, no, but—but, was going so…well…" I spluttered. She offered a weak smile, but said nothing more before walking through the doors into the auditorium. Through eyes welling with tears, I watched the pink coils bob through the throng._

 _And now up on stage, with the bright lights glaring, I found myself squinting to see the coils again. There were so many creatures in the sea below, all contributing to the deafening silence of the auditorium. They were expecting my explanation for my issues, and wanted their reassurances that everything was going to be fine._

 _I tried — I really tried. I opened with a preapproved joke that elicited a few snickers. I dumped the numbers on them, and talked about our expansion into new sectors and new diseases we were working to cure. I delivered the obligatory testimonial — the video of a family from a distant world who all once possessed a congenital birth defect, now eradicated from their lineage thanks to our products. I gained more confidence as I went, and as I did, so did the crowd. People actually sounded happy with our progress, and the mood of the room lightened as I reached the concluding sections of my prepared speech._

 _In defiance of my public speaking training, I didn't really look up from the printed sheets. My mind was too distraught to cobble together words for any ad lib additions, and I certainly didn't want to appear confused onstage. So I kept my head down and churned through it, and savored the bits of pleasant dialogue that arose from the sea. But something within me had me look up from the page before I reached the concluding two paragraphs. I don't know what that something was — fate, divine intervention, dumb luck — but once my head had risen, once my eyes panned over the audience, there, as clear as day, were the pink coils._

 _I froze. There's no other way to put it. Completely and utterly frozen. The pleasant banter from the sea receded, dragged out by the tide of bewilderment overtaking the auditorium. The auditorium was heating up, and I sensed that I was fiddling with the necktie that Jumba had tied for me. Sure enough, I watched from the bottom of my field of vision as the fabric fluttered into the sea below._

 _At this point, I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to do what I did. For a long time afterward, people questioned me, and I told them I really wasn't sure. But nothing had ever felt so right, nor would anything ever feel that right again. My mind and body, which had definitely not been on speaking terms, finally agreed on something meaningful, and collaborated to bring it to life._

" _A final announcement: effective immediately, meega will be stepping down from CEO position. Dr. Jumba Jookiba will be named interim CEO until board selects a new one. Meega will be pursuing other opportunities in GeneGalactic to continue helping people in other ways. Takka."_

 _If reaching the podium had been a long walk, heading back behind the curtain took twice as long. Mainly because it was so quiet — nobody said anything until I was off-stage, ostensibly out of earshot. Though, they always forget that I'm never out of earshot. Most of what they had to say was simply giving voice to confusion and surprise. Some were upset. And a few were happy — though they didn't know why I said what I said, they figured I had good reason to do so. Someone even guessed it was for a girl._

 _And she was there. A little out of breath — she had sprinted through the sea to reach me. I was terrified when I laid eyes on her. She had been so adamant that I remain in my position. That I protect her investment. And I had just failed. Given it all up, walked away from years of blood, sweat, and tears. Sure, I could stay as a consultant or operate in some other capacity — the probably extremely surprised interim CEO Jumba could use the assistance. And I would certainly continue to help people with the company — I really did love that part. But it wouldn't be the same. It could never be the same, anyway. A few days was all it had taken to open my eyes to what I was missing in this universe. And as I walked to her, I could only hope that what I had just done, and everything it would bring…I hoped that it would be enough._

 _It was._

 _Her eyes twinkled more brilliantly than all the stars in the galaxy as we embraced. Her pink coils of fur bobbed and weaved between my ears. Her voice assumed its angelic harmonies. She whispered into my ear, "Boojiboo."_

 _I whispered back, "…blech."_

"Blech!" spat Bonnie. "Ugh, come _on_! That was so…treacly. Yuck, feel like I need to scrape off all that sugar and honey…" she trailed off while swinging a leg over her log. She made a show of scratching at her green fur, rubbing off the happiness of Leroy's ending.

"Aww, Bonnie, it was so sweet. Don't be mean about it," Lilo rebutted. Bonnie huffed, but closed her mouth. "That was a nice story, Leroy." Lilo had taken up a position behind Leroy after his incident, and was now rubbing his back. "You did a good job."

" _Takka_ …" he grumbled, evidently still somewhat woozy. Storytelling had seemingly drained him of most of his energy. "Maybe a short nap…." And Leroy was out again.

"Heh heh, much more like it! I was knowing his earlier rest would not be enough," Jumba boasted with obstreperous pride. "Impressive, yes, but not impressive enough!" Stitch wondered if a portion of Jumba's animosity toward Leroy was leaking into his on-the-fly evaluation.

"Alrighty then," Reuben worked to corral the crowd. "That was a pretty good story, and I'd say we should clap for our man Leroy here but, eh, maybe we'll hold off on that 'til later. So lemme see who's next…."

As the crowd rabbled for position on Reuben's list, Stitch wandered into Angel's eyes. Like Leroy had mentioned, they were twinkling more brightly than all the stars in the galaxy. He made a mental note to hang onto that line for the future. He took her hand and interwove his fingers with hers, which drew her smile. Her eyes creased in the way that he loved, and he inched toward her. Before they connected, however, his ears perked up, catching some errant sound waves from far off in the jungle.

" _Boojiboo_?" Angel inquired with a mounting concern. She squeezed his hand, which brought Stitch back to her.

" _Naga, isa_ nothing," Stitch tried to assuage her worries. He moved in again, and again the sound stopped him. A series of loud thumps, like something large and heavy tearing through the jungle. He recognized the sound from somewhere before, but with the interfering noise of his cousins all fighting to tell the next story, it was exceedingly difficult to place it.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha! Okay, I think Heckler was next, if we can—can we get him inna the circle now? C'mon guys, we gotta work together here."

As they all fought, Nani was gathering up the empty platters in order to whip up the next volley of snacks. On her way into the house, Frenchfry bounded from his spot in the crowd and tugged on her leg. She recognized he was offering to assist, and gratefully accepted. Stitch was listening to the two of them pull open the screen door, with its telltale wheezing spring, when the sound from the jungle thundered once more. It was unmistakable.

A gigantic shadow fell over the campfire. Reuben, who had been busy collating the requests, threw out his hands to hush his cousins. They all turned toward the house and, in unison, gasped. The soft and menacing glow of a plasma cannon was illuminating the edge of the circle.

"I have you now, _trog._ "

#


	5. Chapter 5

_The Fire of Futures Past_

Bedlam. The only way to accurately describe the swell of cousins around that small campfire. Stitch should have expected as much. For many, Gantu was their worst fears realized: imprisonment, servitude, snackless environments. Truly, quite terrible.

And it was this crowd, this mass of _ohana_ , who Stitch had the extraordinary displeasure of trying to calm down. Gantu continued leveling his plasma cannon at Stitch's blue coat, animosity boiling the massive creature's solid aquamarine eyes. Even after Hämsterviel had been locked away, even after his mission had come to an end in a spectacular blaze of disgrace, and even after he had been reinstated to his old position, Gantu had seemingly dedicated every waking moment to exact some misguided form of vengeance on the _trog_ now staring up listlessly from the log. With that anger eating at him, the captain had not stayed captain for long. The now former captain had not presented a major issue for quite some time, content to seethe quietly from his base deep within the heart of the jungle. With the soft and menacing green glow now cascading over wide dark eyes, Stitch wondered what had affected such radical change.

His cousins exhibited less of an enthusiasm to answer that question — they were content to panic and scream, bumping heads and elbows as they went nowhere fast. Despite this shifting sea, Gantu's laser-like precision never wavered.

"That's it, _trog_ , you're coming with me!" The glow was now brighter than the fire behind Stitch, a fire that required immediate tending lest it be extinguished with the swirling air that fleeing cousins had disturbed.

Stitch uttered his usual growl, but his heart simply was not in it. The satiety of platefuls of snacks and an air filled with stories had left him lethargic. Stitch had risen to his feet upon Gantu's entrance, but now, with the plasma coalescing in the barrel of the weapon, he plopped to his haunches, chuckling softly.

The gun powered down, but Gantu's eyes still boiled. "What are you—stop laughing! _Bliznak_! Cut that out!"

The _trog_ certainly did not do as instructed. It had been a soft chuckle before, but Gantu's sudden anger had escalated it to a full-bellied laugh. As the other cousins heard the mirthful rapport, they, too, added theirs to the mixture. Gantu appeared increasingly rankled by the growing chorus, which grew larger still the more upset he became.

Finally, the whole of the jungle was laughing, not at the expense of Gantu so much as at the situation in total. Gantu did not appear to appreciate the difference, and in a few moments, the gun had heated and launched three neon-green plasma balls high into the air.

He had most likely intended for it to instill fear in the mass of cousins. Instead, the chorus chimed in with _oohs_ and _ahs_ while the plasma flares lit the campsite with a surprisingly pleasing green hue. Even Cobra, who had been sprinting toward Gantu and readying to do…something, halted, the alien light glinting in his unsheathed eyes.

Nani was the first to reach the former captain. She laid a hand on his meaty forearm and waited. The plasma balls dimmed, and the eyes cooled. A long and loud sigh emanated from pursed lips far above Nani's head as she hummed a few bars of a gentle luau tune before speaking.

"Why don't you put that toy away and come join us, okay?"

The jungle gasped. Nani's offer — so unexpected — had silenced the campsite, leaving only the whistle of the wind blowing off the ocean. They all gasped again when he holstered his pistol.

"… _fine_ ," Gantu grumbled, shuffling his elephantine feet. "Just don't have me sit next to that _trog_." Stitch huffed at the ultimatum, but Nani hastily agreed and nudged the towering Gantu toward her own log. Cousins scattered at his approach, clearing a path that ended in a cul-de-sac several yards in diameter. The log would have shattered under the burden of his weight, so Gantu dropped down and drew his legs into his chest, murmuring curses all the way to the ground.

Those curses were muffled with the three sandwiches he simultaneously shoved into his mouth. The amalgam of salami, ham, turkey, and assorted cheeses and condiments elicited a satisfied grumble from pursed lips, a sound which helped to ease the incredibly high tension ensnaring the group. The tide flowed, and cousins inched back toward earlier held spots, enfolding Gantu in the whole. He had snagged another platter of delectable goodies, and so did not seem to mind the sudden encroachment of so many _trogs_.

Reuben carefully hopped around the sprawling body of the sleeping Leroy, and clambered back atop his stump. From his wooden throne, he dictated the next steps. "Alright then. Heckler's next, so how's 'bout we bring him to the front here…where are ya, bud?" Reuben feigned a sudden loss of visual acuity. Always the showman, he scanned the crowd with a hand shading his eyes from the campfire's smoky glow. While some of the cousins bought it, and began shouting around for Heckler, joining in Reuben's false distress, Heckler did not seem terribly flustered. He pushed his way to the front, excitedly but not annoyingly so. He positioned himself directly ahead of Leroy and waved his arms to snag everyone's attention.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm right here! But hey now, have I gotta story that'll blow yer socks right off!"

 _Chapter 5_

 _Heckler's Story_

Members of the crowd hushed one another. The air fell still as Heckler boisterously cleared his throat.

 _Okay, so there's this big dummy wanderin' 'round through space in his tiny stupid ship, mucking up everything around—_

"Wait…" Gantu mumbled before bellowing, "What! Some nerve, you little _trog_!"

"Now hold on there, Fish Lips. It'll get better!"

With a great huff, the monstrous Gantu curled back into himself. Heckler, seeming pleased by successfully standing his ground, continued.

 _It was truly beautiful, this vast universe. Full of wonder and awe. But outer space, in all its infinite grandness, even it could never contain how stupid this big dummy really was—_

"That's it!" Gantu thundered, flying to his feet, his elephantine fists pumping the air.

Heckler looked peeved. "Hey now, ain't your turn, so why don't you just…." The green glow had resumed and stolen away Heckler's earlier verve. "Y'know what, why don't you just go right on ahead, yeah?"

"Hmm, that's what I thought…." The barrel cooled much more quickly than Gantu's temper did. Though Gantu would have had real trouble injuring any of them, the Experiments let him imagine he was powerful and scary. He straightened his pitch black uniform and shoved another two sandwiches into his mouth. "Okay then, _trogs_ ," he spat in a wave of crumbs, "let's hear a _real_ story then."

 _Chapter 5_

 _Gantu's Story_

 _The little trog skittered down the hallway. Behind him, explosions. Blasts of plasma spraying the walls. He knew who it was closing in. Who it was breathing down his little blue neck._

 _He flew around the corner. The sign above, rusted, its Tantalog obscured. He could just make it out. Shuttle Bay. Home free. Nearly out._

 _Running on all sixes, his prize glinted between his teeth. It shone like oil in the lights passing overhead. Holographic memory, gorgeous in complexion. The data within, though, was far more beautiful._

" _This—must—get—to—Jumba—" he whistled between clenched teeth. His master had asked for it, begged him to retrieve it. Ones like him, many more like him, their genetic code locked away deep within the shimmering block of memory. Not easy to get to. But worth the challenge. Plasma exploded on the wall behind him. Closer. Hotter._

" _Must—run—faster." The shuttle bay door was open. Cutting the alarm wires earlier was paying dividends. Like he had done on many planets before. Supplies scattered across the galaxy. Not easy to create a lab off the grid. Underground. With no money. A long time had passed. A lot of close calls. And every time, someone had been after him. He had managed to skate by, avoid and outfox, enough to stay ahead. Time and again, he had wondered when luck would abandon him._

 _A shuttle was warming up. He could feel the thrusters gobbling up oxygen. Taste the ozone of the electrical systems. Nearly there. A few more gallops._

 _The plasma was hot. Searing, even. It wouldn't damage him, not severely. But the impact, the heaviness of it. That had him tumbling end over end as the plasma splashed across his hindmost leg. He clenched his teeth harder, gritted through the brief sensation of pain. The holographic memory block stayed put._

 _Slightly dazed, he rattled his head a few times, regaining composure as he stood. Down the hall, ten paces away, stood the one who had hunted him from planet to planet. Chased him down and, time and again, had missed him. Eight paces away now. The massive gun leveled, wielded by a massive figure._

 _He growled, hissing through the memory block. "Supreme Commander Gantu!" he sneered._

"Oh, boy…."

A harsh growl exploded from Gantu's throat. Despite Heckler giving voice to exactly what everyone else was thinking, no one rose to his aid. As the growl matured, Heckler devoured his words in between cautious bites of a ham and Swiss. "Sorry—sorry, continue," and then under his breath, "oh, please _do_ continue."

" _Aha! You little trog — you're mine!" A few plasma blasts burned the air. The trog danced and darted. It wasn't fear yet that guided his legs, just annoyance at the blockage to his escape._

" _Grr, stand still trog! This is for your own good…well, my good at least!" The air was alive with hissing plasma. Supreme Commander Gantu dumped a clip from the massive gun, and did a fine job of blackening the floor, walls, and ceiling. Eventually, the plasma wave halted. A hollow click rang out from the gun._

" _Pthbt!" came the trog's taunt. Supreme Commander Gantu growled. Again, the trog looked poised to slip away. The shuttle bay was close. And yet…the trog had extracted the memory block to execute the maneuver. Left himself open. Supreme Commander Gantu smirked._

"So, do ya hafta say Supreme Commander Gantu every time ya say your name?" Bonnie's sharp voice incised Gantu's story. Gantu paused, blinked, and looked over the crowd. From the several hundred head bobs rolling through the ocean of _ohana_ , it seemed she was not the only one wondering.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Well, why?"

Without missing a beat, Gantu flew to his feet. "Because Supreme Commander Gantu has decreed it so! And all you _trogs_ shall bow to my whim!"

A dead silence seized the grounds. Stitch drew in his legs, unsure if he would need to act on anything. He could sense Angel tensing, feeling the same uncomfortable awkwardness. Thankfully, Bonnie was rather unfazed by the outburst. "Take it easy there, Fish Lips. It's a story."

A couple chuckles bubbled up from the crowd. Gantu obviously took notice, and so speedily hopped back into his story. "Right, right, uh…."

 _The trog caught the smirk. Instantly, he recognized his mistake. Yet, it was too late to act. The yellow pistol had been drawn, the plasma bolt already slicing through the eight paces of air. He pulled his hand back. The memory block snagged the light rays from the plasma. Green broke apart, scattered and reformed on the vertices. A spectrum of green trapped between the genetic code of his kind._

 _He had enough time to blink before the green swelled. It poured over his hand, his nose, his teeth. He yowled and he flew backward, sprawling out on the marred deck. The memory block, its green escaping, flipped through the hot air, twisted and turned on its descent. Claws scrabbled. Waved on the ground, uselessly, as the block clattered. Held together. He breathed, relieved. Inching on the floor, crawling to retrieve the ones like him. "Jumba…need…them…" he muttered with each drag._

 _Nearly there. Claws encircled the block. It shimmered like oil under the lights overhead. He drew his claws together. Ensnared the block. Success! Now to the bay, home free._

 _Then came the foot. He yelped and groaned. He was incredibly strong, but from his angle on the ground, not strong enough to remove it. A knee joint popped, and soon, Supreme Commander Gantu was kneeling down on the trog._

" _I told you. You're mine, trog. Now then, I'll take care of that memory block—"Supreme Commander Gantu ground his heel, and the trog, with great distress, released his grip on the block. A swift kick sent the creature skidding into the far wall. With another stomp, the block was reduced to dust._

 _Dumbfounded, the little blue trog watched as the atmosphere recyclers sucked up the ones like him through an intake vent. Away to be purified. Removed. Eliminated. Gone forever. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Or if there even was a response to be had. Anger boiled up — the best he could manage._

 _On his feet, the trog closed the gap in a few eye-blinks. Hand-to-hand, close quarters combat. Messy. Claws flashed, parried by the padded wrist guards. He got a few scratches in, reveled at inflicting damage. A shadow of the pain surging within his blue body. Supreme Commander Gantu tumbled around, fighting off the furious furball. Backward and backward some more, eventually the two fell through the doorway. Into the harsh glow of the arc lamps in the shuttle bay._

 _Supreme Commander Gantu grunted as he blocked the attacks. "No—never—you'll not rob me on my own ship! Take that!" A swift backhand smacked the creature across his furry cheek and paused the melee. Supreme Commander Gantu availed himself of the opportunity and landed several powerful blows. The trog coughed as the hits connected, and was tossed into the air. Momentum sent him toward the shuttle, still warming up. The ozone was stronger, tasted bitterer. The space around the engines was hot, unpleasant. He spluttered as he stood._

" _Naga…must…for Jumba…." Reason was failing the creature. He stumbled toward the shuttle door, which was slowly opening with a loud and daunting hiss. Nearly there. A few more steps. Then back to the lab, deep underground. A warm meal prepared by his master. This was a loss, yes, and a grave one. But this federation, they duplicated everything. There were backups, and backups for those backups. There would be another chance. Another opportunity to liberate the ones like him. The door beckoned._

 _Hands dug deep into the fur. Seized the scruff of his neck. Up he went. He watched the door sail by and spin away as Supreme Commander Gantu took a better look at his quarry._

" _You have caused me nothing but misery! You, with your taunting and your…slipperiness! How I've waited for this moment, to have you here, in the palm of my hand!"_

"Aww, that's adorable, Gantu!"

"No! No _it is not!_ " Gantu was shouting like a petulant child from behind the log as Bonnie egged him on. A few other chimed in with cries of "Aw…." Stitch and Angel stayed quiet, but could barely stifle the laughter. Gantu, though, was having none of it.

"Quiet! All of you! I will finish my story!" The crowd ignored him, but regardless, Gantu pressed on.

" _What do you have to say for yourself, trog?"_

 _The little blue trog hummed. Waiting, thinking on something. The corner of his mouth twitched. And then smoothly, a small rumble in his throat transformed into an impressive loogie, which he hawked with expertise._

 _Yet, Supreme Commander Gantu seemed to have learned a few things from his encounters. At the exact right time, his head darted away. The projectile rocketed past, splattering a group of fuel barrels not too far off. Supreme Commander Gantu chuckled deviously while the trog looked stunned._

" _Nice try, but never again. Now, I think it's time to lock you up in the brig. The Council will have a grand time dispatching you!"_

 _The trog struggled with the hand, but his strength was not enough. He fell limply, and watched as the warmed shuttle slipped away. The door hissed closed as the duo walked back into the hallway._

" _See, trog, we will always prevail. We, the Galactic Federation, sworn to protect and uphold the law. We don't do this work for the numerous accolades, of which I have dozens. We don't do it to be famous, even though my face graces every station from here to the most backwater planets. We do it because we love our galaxy, and we will fight to defend—"_

"Yep, I've had enough." Bonnie hopped off her log and rounded up a few plates of snacks. "Who wants a sandwich? Anyone? Anyone?"

A couple pleas popped up, and Bonnie obliged their requests. Heckler took the hint, and started passing around the trays nearest him. In a matter of sixty seconds, the whole crowd had lost any interest in Gantu's increasingly mawkish tale.

"W-wait!" he stammered as a silver platter glinted by the campfire, which had roared back to life as Stitch had tended it during the story. "I'm not done yet!"

"Oh yes, yes you are, _Supreme Commander_ Gantu." She chuckled delightedly as she swerved away from the flummoxed Gantu.

He swiveled his massive head, brightened eyes searching. "N-Nani, you liked it, r-right?"

Nani donned her best impression of a kind critic. Stitch recognized the tone, a soft reproving, a teacher guiding a student away from a cherished but ultimately lifeless pursuit. "It was…hmm…a novel approach. Something, er, unexpected."

Gantu graciously accepted the insincere words, and it was then that Stitch experienced a surge of pity for the once-captain. He had been invited into their circle, and they had mocked him incessantly. Gantu would likely have been better off hiding somewhere in the deep recesses of the jungle, away from anyone and everyone. The changes in demeanor had been so rapid, but in retrospect, should not have been much of a surprise. Now, Stitch realized, he had found the answer to his question.

Angel gasped as Stitch rose and strode over to Gantu. The former captain was growing increasingly incensed, seemingly ready to roar with the flames of the campfire. The holster was unbuttoned, and a hand was twitching as it closed in on the pistol grip. Daintily, Stitch laid a paw atop the meaty hand. Aquamarine eyes snapped to him.

" _Oketaka_. Relax, Gantu. _Isa_ luau!" Stitch brandished the smile he had practiced in the mirror for days on end. Improved since his first time, no doubt, but still a ways to go.

But, it did the trick. Soon, Gantu's hand fell away from the gun. Eyes lost their focus, and they wandered around the rings encircling the fire. He even allowed himself a soft chuckle as two cousins fought over the last pastrami. As they came by, he snatched up a few plates and inhaled their contents. After a warm hum, Gantu leaned back, his hands digging into the earth, and let a smile crack his austere visage.

Stitch spotted Reuben, who stood near the stump while lazily snacking away on a delectable-looking morsel of something. Stitch gave him a wink, and Reuben interpreted it correctly. He scrambled back aboard his stump and called for attention.

"Alright everyone, let's settle down now! We got some snacks, good…yep very good, alright, this way now." The crowd did as instructed, and Reuben continued without delay. "So thank you, Gantu, for that…story. It was a…well, a story. Anyway, Heckler, you wanna pick up where ya left off, or something?"

Heckler was a few rows back, and in between bites, he waved off Reuben. "Y'know what, just come back around to me. Moment's gone."

"Cool, gotcha then. Okay, who's next?"

The rabble started again. Stitch reclined and sought out Angel's paw. They connected, and he squeezed. She did not notice — she was too busy trying to enter her name into the fray. Stitch sighed and patted his knees, content to watch the fire blaze on.

A tap on his shoulder. A whisper — Nani. "Stitch." He jumped and whipped his head around. "To the front door— quick! Lilo needs your help!"

A blue streak cut through the ocean of _ohana_.

#

* * *

 _ **Jigsaw Jill - You called it. Hoped you (and all the other readers) enjoyed. - Euphonemes**_


	6. Chapter 6 - For LumiChan640

**_My thanks to LumiChan640 for the suggestion for this chapter. It's the longest one so far for FFP, but I hope you find it enjoyable the whole way through. As always, please feel free to read and review, and I'm happy to field any suggestions for more stories around the campfire! Happy reading - Euphonemes_**

* * *

 _The Fire of Futures Past_

Stitch's heart was pounding in his ears. The tips of his claws tore gashes into the earth as he rounded the corner of the house. The stairs creaked and moaned. The lip of the bottommost whitewashed step wobbled with something heavy. He ran faster.

And there she stood, frozen on the first step, holding two gigantic paper bags overflowing with a bounteous assortment of what the local delicatessen had to offer. She frowned in the weird way that creased her forehead and crinkled her nose. Stitch gulped.

"There you are, finally! C'mon, help me get these groceries inside. They're all getting hungry again…."

Thrust before him was a bulging brown bag with a log of fresh bologna sticking out of the top. Relief at her safety and annoyance at the impending chore swirled in his gut when he grabbed the sack, and he grumbled the whole way up the staircase and into the kitchen where he unceremoniously plopped it on the countertop. The preparation area for the group's incredible assortment of snacks was an absolute mess — Stitch had to gingerly step over the discarded breads crusts and shavings of hams and chickens that littered the tiled floor as he headed back outside. The organized pandemonium of the kitchen fit right in with Nani's style, and as Stitch slipped through the back door, he was overcome with a sudden, if fleeting, frisson of gratitude for how much she did to keep their ` _ohana_ afloat.

Such care and devotion was evident as Stitch clambered back through the crowd, and watched the cousins sloppily chomp away on meticulously compiled snacks, their smiles and laughs warming the spots where the central campfire could not reach. He scanned for Nani, but apparently, she had snuck around the side of the clumps of experiments, perhaps reentering the warzone of a kitchen to ready the next volley of treats. The soft cooing of Angel rose above the munching rabble, and he was soon reseated aside his _boojiboo_.

Reuben was atop his podium, gnawing at the edges of yet another sandwich. Below him, Leroy was stirring, likely roused from restful slumber by the din of dining cousins. An amused gurgle leapt from his throat, and then a crimson paw shot out at a passing platter, coming away with salami on a baguette. As he watched Leroy inhale his food, Stitch wondered how much bread — or meat or cheese, for that matter — would remain on the island come morning.

" _Oi_ Lilo!" Nani's voice registered with Stitch's finely tuned ears. He whipped his head around to the sight of two sisters bickering at the edge of the sea of cousins. "You forgot the ice!" Nani was berating. Lilo was shuffling nervously.

"No, I had it, but it…uh, was stolen, by…werewolf ninjas!"

"Those aren't even things! Now how are we supposed to keep all the meat and cheese cold!"

While the two snapped back and forth, an idea brewed in Stitch's mind. While it took shape, he hopped off the log — much to Angel's unpleasant surprise — and pushed through a wave of cousins. He went through several more waves, backward and backward, until the radiant heat from the fire, which Leroy had taken upon himself to tend, no longer touched the hairs on his neck. There, he found just the cousin he needed.

"Slushy, Lilo and Nani, need _yuuga_ help!"

Though the heat did not reach this far back, flickers of flame glinted within Slushy's glacial body. Shiny ice shifted all along his limbs as he paused. Slushy's ice-crafting abilities were renowned, almost as much as his sno-cones. In fact, he was effortlessly twirling a tiny snowball between his hands when he answered Stitch with a demand of his own.

Stitch jumped back, just a bit. Mouth wide open, he pressed, " _Yuuga_ want tell story?"

Slushy nodded emphatically. The snowball expanded. Lilo and Nani's argument was bittering every second. With little more hesitation, Stitch accepted.

Once Slushy started over to the sisters, Stitch turned around and cleared a route to Reuben. He gestured for his cousin's ears, and whispered the deal he had just made.

"Wha—surely ya can't be serious…really?" Stitch reaffirmed, and Reuben shrugged. "Alright, fine with me. Get 'im over here…boy, a few of our dear cousins ain't gonna be too happy…." Stitch could sense Reuben shredding the mental list of speakers he had been building so carefully.

And sure enough, squeals of displeasure at those passed over rose out of the tumult as Slushy carved a path toward the log. He was a little skittish around the heat — several rows back from the fire was enough for him, and it was from there where he motioned for the group's ears. Attention shifted from the usual central circle, and the group closed in as Slushy boisterously cleared his throat.

" _Oketaka, meega matyr, akootah…_ "

 _Chapter 6_

 _Slushy's Story_

"Wait…huh?" Nani's face was contorted in a hideous representation of a failure to comprehend. Though they had lived among these humans for quite some time now, Stitch forgot how difficult a task learning his cousins' language posed to Nani, Lilo, and the rest. He had secretly hoped they would make a more concerted effort to do so — he and several others had worked so hard to at least improve their human language skills — but between balancing their various activities at home and school and work and everything, mastering an alien language must have fallen rather low on the humans' lists of priorities.

Slushy was no better, though. Despite the business he conducted regularly with humans, their language eluded him beyond selection of sno-cones and acceptance of payment. He scratched his head, which tinkled as ice scraped against ice, and waited, perhaps hoping for someone to speak up.

"Do not being worrying! I am volunteering services for translation," Jumba kindly offered while blundering toward the space created by Slushy's adamant refusal to approach the fire. "I will do best to keep original emotion and such…be trusting me!" Nani grimaced, but quickly hid the look behind her hand as Jumba whipped around and grinned. She returned a sickly little smile before begging Slushy to begin his tale.

' _It's bright. Why is it bright?'_

 _A few more blinks, through blurry eyes, and he discovered why. The blackness of space had been replaced with a blinding white, furiously buffeting the clear plastic of the ship's cockpit window. Little sparks danced across the pure background, complemented by the soft tittering of broken wires connecting intermittently between wild swings. He tapped his claw, and it passed through the massive fissure in the control console. He squinted, but his vision blurred again. The console disappeared into the gray of the downed vessel, brightened by the torrent outside._

 _Experiment Six-Two-Six rattled his head. Determination swam up, and he leaped to his feet in sudden clarity. "Crashed!" When he shouted, the craft groaned. The sudden swaying passed up his legs, and Six-Two-Six knew it was time to vacate. He whipped around and tore off a large piece of the flexible thermal insulation hanging limply from one of the holes in the cockpit. Then, employing incredible strength, he rammed into the cockpit covering, which flew off in one great chunk and vanished in the blizzard. The rush of toasty air escaping into the frigid sky knocked Six-Two-Six off-balance, and he tumbled headfirst into a snow bank._

 _By the time he pulled his head free from the drift, his ship was gone. Cautiously, on all sixes, he crawled forward, tapping a claw on the snow ahead until there was no more snow to tap. Even in the whiteout, Six-Two-Six could see the lip of the cliff, and his hairs could feel the updraft generated by a gigantic chasm that now held his ship deep within. Falling back from the edge, and plopping into the snow, an enormous shiver shook his entire body._

 _Even after he wrapped the insulation around himself, the cold was bitter. The tip of every hair froze. Yet, the cold was soothing…enjoyable, even. All the snow, and the ice, beautiful, in a way. With a little syrup, it might even taste delicious—_

"An ad for yer sno-cone stand? C'mon, we already know _all_ about it, preachin' ta the choir my man…" Reuben interjected.

"Mmm…" Gantu grumbled from his little domain. "The _trog_ does make good sno-cones…."

"Agree!" shouted Leroy from the other side of the fire in an exceedingly rare moment of accordance with the former captain.

"Those two thinkin' the same thing…don't see _that_ every day…" Bonnie murmured under her breath — but still forcefully enough to garner a few snorts of agreement.

Slushy huffed, an icy sound that easily communicated his perturbation. The hush fell almost immediately, and the storyteller resumed his tale.

 _Six-Two-Six had been walking for some time now — how long, he couldn't say. His ship crashing had punched a hole through the omnipresent wall of clouds that blockaded the sky, usually letting through only a few precious rays from the weak sun. Angry clouds had quickly reformed, and resumed blanketing the planet's surface in a dim and heavy gray. His trudging through the gray snow, with a gray blizzard assaulting his unprotected eyes and nose, was draining his muscles and nerves with terrifying efficiency._

 _To keep his mind from the pain building in his limbs, he turned his thoughts toward Jumba. His creator should now be wondering where his creation had gone. His mission had been one bordering on desperation. Jumba resuming his work without massive doses of private funding had proven more difficult than he had predicted. He had depleted his several accounts of somewhat-illicitly garnered money, and with no other sources of capital readily available, had decided to employ his creations in garnering money from fully illicit sources. Six-Two-Six had been dispatched to a rather remote world to meet an old friend of Jumba's, who said he had a good lead on more money. When the contact showed up wielding a pair of repeating blasters, Six-Two-Six hightailed it, but not before a few well-placed blaster rounds disabled his ship's guidance systems._

 _Now marooned on this icy oblivion, Six-Two-Six knew his only chance of escape would be calling home, hoping Jumba could spare another experiment to come and rescue him in time. And as the thermal insulation blanket grew weightier with accumulated snow and tired muscles, he also knew that time was short._

 _Ahead was the same gray. No changes in elevation, no boulders to hide behind, no caves to crawl into and keep warm. The plane of gray extended past the horizon. And Six-Two-Six could not keep travelling it. Legs buckled, the thermal insulation blanket slipped off, and an exposed experiment fell into the snow. Buried in the winters of many years, Six-Two-Six waited for the cold to take him._

"What is this, a short story?" Heckler shouted from the edge of the circle. A few other experiments were mewing something similar.

"Oh no! Don't hurt him!"

"What's gonna happen to Stitch?"

"Find him a way out — c'mon!"

With his back turned to the fire, Stitch listened to the commotion from his log. Angel squeezed his hand, and he gave her a knowing smile. Evidenced from his thriving sno-cone stand, Slushy had a talent for building interest in things, whether they be frozen treats or hearty stories. Though the English vernacular wasn't there, the intent was, and that was more than enough for Slushy. Stitch brightened his smile as both Slushy and Jumba worked to calm the crowd yet retain the interest in the story's next act.

There was a _whoosh_ behind him, and Stitch whipped around to catch the tail end of a massive flame erupting into the previously undisturbed night sky. Apparently, Leroy had miscalculated the mass and burn time of the log he had added to the campfire. The sheepish grin betrayed the experiment, and as Stitch made a show of tamping out a few slightly singed hairs near his spines, Leroy averted his eyes from his cousin, finding something fascinating in the fire pit.

Angel knew what Stitch would do, and he felt her hand depress his knee before he could swivel around and take control of his fire. He started to grumble in protest, but her unwavering eyes kept the noise stuck in his throat. Stitch quietly admitted that she understood him more than he understood himself. He didn't mind that so much — in fact, he liked having someone who could hop into his head and react accordingly. Lilo had a knack for it, too, thanks to a long and endearing friendship. Yet, Angel's way with him was something altogether special.

He squeezed her hand back, and together they turned toward Slushy, who had wrested control of the air from wailing cousins. He motioned to Jumba to resume his translating duties, and then they relayed the fate of Six-Two-Six.

 _The snow was quiet. A simple serenity pervaded Six-Two-Six's little divot in the snowbank. As the tendrils of cold slipped around his sapphire body, he wondered what Jumba would think. How he would continue on after losing his experiment. Jumba had lost several experiments over the years — some on missions, others gone AWOL, and more who simply disappeared. Would Six-Two-Six be just another entry in a ledger, a Missing in Action scrawled next to his name? Would Jumba feel anything as he closed the book on him?_

 _Six-Two-Six felt something. Something quite tangible — a rumbling. Tiny snowballs rolled down the steep banks of his hole. Something was moving toward him! Tired muscles strained, and he was able to push his head above the snowline. Nearfield, a giant mechanical beast thundered along. He squinted, and concluded it was a vehicle, something specially designed to operate on this terrain. Heavily chained tires shredded through the slick landscape. Snowflakes bounced off a reflector shield that surrounded an obsidian chassis, streamlined to slice through blizzards. Atop the cigar-shaped craft bubbled out a cab, through which Six-Two-Six could spy a small critter clad in armor just as gray as the air. He heard the loud hiss of heated air escaping from opening doors and excited trilling from the six armor-clad creatures, who were actually twice his size, crowding around him. Before he finally let sleep take him, the snow rushed away from under him, and flakes floated by as his saviors carted him to their vessel._

 _When he opened his eyes again, gray was gone. In its place was a pristine white high vaulted ceiling that melded into soft pale blue walls. Decoration was sparse — apart from a chair, a sink, and the comfy and springy bed in which Six-Two-Six awoke, the room was empty — yet, the atmosphere felt inviting. There were no windows, but the room was well-lit, as if the walls themselves were glowing._

 _He squirmed out from between plush sheets, and his claws clacked against a hard metallic floor. Though it wasn't exceptionally warm in the room, evidenced by Six-Two-Six's breath congealing into a cloud that expanded when he exhaled, the shivers had dissipated. Feeling improved, he tiptoed around the room, tapping furtively on the walls, which appeared to be cut from one piece of icy material._

 _The door he had been searching for grew out of the opposite wall. In marched a squad of the gray critters, who then surrounded Six-Two-Six, warbling incoherently as they did so. They each held a rod, about as tall as Six-Two-Six was and as wide as one of his limbs. Each one looked like it had been constructed from the same material as the wall, and each seemed pretty solid — a good weapon. So, Six-Two-Six sat patiently against the wall until, with a loud fanfare, an unarmored creature entered the room. One he recognized._

 _He had thought Five-Two-Three to be dead, melted into slag on a volcanic world on the other side of the galaxy. Jumba had written him off as such. And yet, before him stood the unmistakably shiny figure of Five-Two-Three. His crystalline body, bordering on amorphous, shimmered in the room's odd light. Spines like icicles shot from the back of his head and clinked as he smirked with frosty lips. As if to definitively prove his identity, Five-Two-Three made a grand sweeping gesture, and shards of ice lifted off from the walls and hovered silently, only receding once Six-Two-Six uttered appropriate oohs and ahs._

 _Six-Two-Six could barely contain his excitement. He rushed forward with arms outstretched, ready to embrace his fellow experiment. The glassy rods hammered down, and he rebounded off the rigid blockade. He recovered and fired a quizzical look at Five-Two-Three, who did not seem the least bit bothered._

" _It's alright, gentlemen. Let him pass," Five-Two-Three decreed in fluent Tantalog. The creatures obeyed, and Six-Two-Six slipped passed them and wrapped up Five-Two-Three in a warm embrace._

" _Good to see you! Thought you were dead!"_

" _Ah, no, not dead yet! And it's really good to see you, too."_

"Aww, that's so cute! They're so happy to see each other!" squealed Lilo. She encouraged a few experiments to coo in tandem.

"Yep, truly heartwarmin'." With a sandwich in each hand, Reuben had sidled up toward the front ring. Perhaps he figured he could regain his semblance of control were he closer to the current speaker. Stitch laughed openly at the thought until Reuben open his mouth again. "But…" he spat through a cloud of crumbs, "maybe we should be lettin' him tell us about it, yeah?"

Lilo kept smiling elatedly as Slushy mentioned he was going to skip over a few lines of dialogue and get right into the good part.

" _Yeah, so after crashing here and finding these guys, I plied my icy trade, and they put me in charge! Oh yeah, I taught them all the basics of our language — they're fast learners — but they tend to revert back to their native tongue when I'm not around. However, I told them to listen to you from now on, so hopefully you shouldn't have any more problems with them._

" _Anyway…enough about all that, my old friend. Right now, I really need your help with something. It's pretty urgent—and secret." Five-Two-Three flicked his wrist, and his guards broke formation and trotted back toward the open hole in the wall. They waited patiently while Five-Two-Three closed his gap with Six-Two-Six and whispered into his big floppy ear._

" _There's a special gem, hidden away in a set of ancient ruins — my guards' ancestors built it long ago. Now this gem, supposedly, has a special…I dunno, power of some kind. You know how Six-Two-Four can sing a tune and get people to do things? It's sort of like that, only I need it to help keep my little domain going in the right direction. It's tough being in charge, y'know?"_

 _Six-Two-Six nodded slowly, keeping his eyes zeroed in on the squad manning the door. He wondered how strong their armor was, and if his own super-tough skull could fracture it. From there, he figured, there had to be a ship that could get him off the planet — he had a mission to finish, after all._

 _Five-Two-Three had been blathering about his new fiefdom and its troubles. Six-Two-Six had been simultaneously and cheerfully daydreaming about cracking the tallest guard's breastplate when Five-Two-Three mentioned something that brought Six-Two-Six back to the room._

" _Huh? What?"_

 _"Oh yeah, we've plenty of ships to spare — no need to worry! Tell you what, help me get this gem, and one of the fastest in my fleet will be all yours."_

 _Six-Two-Six had to forcibly clamp his mouth shut to stop from salivating. He did let out a peep, enough to confirm he was on board. Five-Two-Three gleefully clapped him on the back and said he would send over his plans shortly. Before he went back to his guard, he leaned in even more closely and said, "Now normally, I'd ask my guards to join us. But for a mission like this…it'll be you and me handling the whole thing. Just like the old days."_

"Yeah, we _all_ know Stitch has a little…slobbering issue," Bonnie interjected from afar.

"Hey, he's been working on that!" came the affirmation of an unknown supporter. Angel also quickly added in a hum of agreement for the public, while she gave Stitch a reassuring pat on his knee privately. Stitch managed a weak smile, and then grew atypically self-conscious. He dug his tongue into the bottom of his mouth, and nodded emphatically when Slushy asked if he should keep going.

 _A pervasive rumble filled the cab atop the obsidian snow crawler. Six-Two-Six held his ears as their transport noisily crushed a snowdrift coated in a film of ice. Five-Two-Three expertly manipulated the controls, a series of levers and buttons that lit up the cab in a deep scarlet. Outside, the gray blizzard raged, easily scrambling the crimson of the near-infrared headlights. A holographic map was guiding the Ice King — a name Six-Two-Six had mentally ascribed to his travel companion — and it looked like they still had a healthy distance left to traverse._

 _Six-Two-Six had nestled into the co-pilot's seat, and finally found a comfortable position in which to try to nap. Ever since they had left, Six-Two-Six had been restless, and though he was not entirely trusting of Five-Two-Three after all this time apart, the exhaustion that comes with staying warm in a frigid climate had finally nabbed him by the legs. Eyelids fell heavy, and he briefly dreamt of the mission he had failed. The blasters heating the air to a shimmer. The cackle of a traitor. The blood pumping through his veins. Exhilarating and terrifying, all the same. The money had not been there in his clenched fists. The money Jumba needs to rebuild, to recreate. Something must be done._

 _The sudden stop jarred Six-Two-Six from somnolence. Wide-eyed, he started bleating at the Ice King, pestering as to why their vehicle had halted so suddenly. He snuck a peek at the holographic map, and saw the blinking light of their waypoint was still pretty far-off, barely clinging to the map's edge._

" _That's the problem with these crawlers, they suck down a lot of juice. We'll need to walk from here if we want to make it back to my place on one tank of fuel. Now throw this on — I know you'll need it." The Ice King wasted no time in digging out a set of the gray armor his guards wore, specially adapted for Six-Two-Six's size. After squeezing on the panels, he shoved his big head into the helmet, contorting his ears in the process. The scarlet visor within buzzed to life, and after a shrill chirp sounded in his mashed ear, the armor warmed. Six-Two-Six sighed in surprised contentedness._

 _The Ice King poked at the holographic map, and it momentarily flickered as a bracelet was ejected from the crawler's console. He attached it to his wrist, and then started hopping in eagerness to depart_ _—_ _no need for him to don any fancy heating armor. "Okay, let's get going. Shouldn't be too much farther now—eh, ignore the map."_

"Psh…like that little _trog_ could get his big head into _any_ helmet…" Gantu grumbled from his post far away from the action. Slushy paid him enough attention, however, to stop the story, to the great dismay of his listeners.

"Oh c'mon, don't mind Gantu!"

"Yeah, he's just mad someone stole his last sandwich!"

A loud growl. "And when I find out who did it…there is no place in the galaxy where you can hide from my wrath—"

"Oh sure, your unending wrath and all that, very interesting," Bonnie cut him off. A tiny twinkle in those aquamarine eyes flared, and Stitch saw a finger twitch as it neared his weapon's grip. Nani's gaze, however, was far sharper, and Gantu's twinkle was extinguished with prejudice.

"And no, Stitch, your head isn't _that_ big," Nani followed-up. Stitch had not seen her slip into the sea of cousins, but was thankful for her words. Whether she was sincere or not, it was kind, and Stitch — who had been snickering to himself during the entire exchange — offered his best attempt at a nice smile.

" _Hey, don't worry! We're nearly there!_ "

Slushy had resumed his tale without informing the rest of the crowd, whose murmurs cut out the next few lines. Even Stitch's finely tuned hearing experienced momentary distress in deciphering them.

"… _excited to see what this thing looks like. No one's seen it in ages. Oh, I hope it's all icy and shiny!"_

 _Six-Two-Six nodded, a move which did not translate well through the armor. Between the plates clacking into one another, he did manage to squeak out his question. "But…why?"_

 _The Ice King stalled at the query. His footprints in the drifting snow clustered, dropping back from the confident strides he had maintained for the past…however long they'd been walking. Six-Two-Six wasn't even sure of their location, or where their ride home was sitting. He had been blindly following the Ice King across the face of his planet, and now seemed as good a time as any to discover why._

" _It's…difficult, old friend. To keep up this, whatever you call it, projection? Façade? All those people back there — and there are many more whom you did not meet — they all look up to me. Because I can…move ice around?"_

 _Six-Two-Six guessed the questions were rhetorical, yet the Ice King sounded incredibly authentic when asking them. The bright eyes that had glittered in the icy chamber earlier had now glazed over, as frozen as the tundra through which they traipsed._

" _I'm telling ya, it was so much simpler with Jumba. Sure, I know you have it rough, having to do his dirty work. Wasn't always glamorous. But bearing the responsibility of protecting these people, it weighs much more heavily on me than anything Jumba had asked me to do."_

 _The Ice King stopped and slammed down cold hands onto the warm shoulder pads of Six-Two-Six's armor. "And that's why I asked you to help me. Of anyone, you would understand protecting your own. You were always the most defensive of the experiments. Always ready to do what was necessary. Well, this is necessary. I…I can't keep these people's confidence without some assistance. And this gem will help me ensure that I do my job, and protect my own."_

 _Six-Two-Six waited for more, but the Ice King simply resumed the long walk to his prize. It was funny. Six-Two-Six did understand. Though he had little practice with managing a planet, he empathized with the Ice King's plight of taking care of one's own. Perhaps that had been what was frustrating the experiment, why he failed to sleep in the crawler. Jumba would forgive him, merely send him back out to retrieve another pile of loot. But, the other experiments, they would suffer, too. Without the money, there would be cutbacks. Austerity. And they would pay the price, and shoulder the burden. It was something Six-Two-Six would never allow._

" _Lucky for me," the Ice King pulled Six-Two-Six from his thoughts, "that you crashed here! We'll get you back to Jumba, don't worry. And I'm sure he'll be excited to get the money you brought him!" Six-Two-Six had failed to mention his mission going sideways. "I'll bet it was a lot, too. Otherwise, I figured you'd be asking how much a gem like this is worth! And it's a lot, I'll tell ya — more money than you've ever seen, I'd wager…."_

 _The Ice King kept talking, but Six-Two-Six was entranced. A gem to solve all his problems, just a few hundred, or maybe a few thousand, more steps away. Selling it on the galactic gray market would be an easy task, and shortly afterward, they would be so flush with cash…Six-Two-Six had to be careful not to salivate into his helmet. Why had he not seen it before?_

 _He regarded the Ice King from a few steps behind, tracing the contours of his body — his icy, fragile body — against the gray blizzard. A quick hit, and it would be over. The helmet would add extra punch to his solid skull. It would take less force than he would expect — he could maybe even get up to sufficient speed in these tall drifts. A leap through the snow, one forceful tap, and the other experiments would live better than the Ice King._

" _Augh_ , it's so…ruthless!" shouted Pleakley. Several cousins blurted out agreements. Even Jumba, who took the sudden break to clear his weary throat, nodded softly.

Slushy protested the protesters, all the while working to reengage his listeners. Stitch whipped his head around to check on his beloved fire. Leroy had improved with time. A regular expert now, he tossed some kindling onto the flame, and built from thin twigs that crackled upon entry up to hefty logs that would smolder long after this evening concluded. He caught Leroy's attention, and waved and smiled with approval. As much as he could, Leroy looked positively overjoyed.

Stitch swiveled around in time to jump back into Slushy's world.

" _Ah, here we are, the ruins!"_

 _Six-Two-Six gazed around in wonderment. The ruins were a network of massive cubical constructs, connected by crumbling skybridges that spanned from the short outcropping on which he stood all the way to the horizon. Even from a distance, he could tell the buildings were crafted from the same odd material as the chamber back in the Ice King's domain. Oddly, the air was calm here — no flakes fell within the shallow valley of the ruins, though the gray light survived, casting the buildings in a dull yet appropriate hue._

 _The Ice King sped right toward the ruins. "Don't fret. The gem is actually close by. We came in the back way!" Friendly snowballs tumbled after the Ice King as he smacked into the foot of the hill and stumbled into the first massive cube. Six-Two-Six exercised a bit more caution on his descent, but made commendable time in catching up to his companion._

 _The inside of the cube was as drab as the outside, but with the light even more reduced. Six-Two-Six's visor illuminated the landscape in scarlet monochrome. He deftly avoided potholes and protrusions in the floor as he closed in on the glow of the holographic map wrapped around the Ice King's wrist._

" _Hah!" Five-Two-Three shouted at nothing. He was bouncing up and down, waiting for Six-Two-Six to take another ten steps and be beside him before continuing. "Look at that — the marking there. I think it's the Keyhole."_

 _The Ice King had mentioned in passing how he had acquired the Key. A raid on a compound full of dissidents, who were eager to depose their new ruler, had gone swimmingly. As the Ice King had inspected the seized buildings, one of the captives kept glancing to an unusual spot in the wall. The Ice King had followed the eyes to the secret panel, behind which lay a hunk of carved stone. Someone had yelled out that it had been a key, but the Ice King didn't understand it was the Key until his historian explained the full tale several days afterward._

 _The Key fit snugly into the Keyhole, and a rumbling, louder and more violent than the crawler's shaking, seized the building. Six-Two-Six picked up the sounds of crumbling material, and he turned around swiftly enough to back away from the disappearing floor. By the time the building settled, the floor looked much like the hole in the chamber when Six-Two-Six first reunited with the Ice King, except this depression revealed a stone staircase down into darkness._

 _Six-Two-Six delicately placed a foot on the first step, which held. Before continuing, a gentle pat on his shoulder pad brought him face-to-face with the Ice King._

" _Before we head down there, old friend, I just wanted to say…thank you for coming with me. I know it's been a little boring so far, or not what you're used to, at least. But, I've enjoyed getting to talk with you again. I missed those days…more than I thought. So no matter what's down there, let's finish this together."_

 _The Ice King's eyes sparkled in the visor's scarlet light amplification. On that step, Six-Two-Six began to regret the thoughts of before, of smashing into Five-Two-Three and stealing the gem for himself. Only the inklings of regret, he noticed, but they still stung as the Ice King managed a warm smile. Six-Two-Six rocked back and forth in a full-body nod, and then gestured for the Ice King to lead on._

 _Together, they descended. The staircase hugged the wall, and after several hundred steps, they were let out onto a remarkably smooth floor of a gigantic underground cavern. The walls glowed softly, enough to figure out the cavern was scarily huge, but not enough to estimate its exact size. The only object in the room was a rather wide pillar built of icy material, atop which a hovering teardrop of crystal glowed with a vibrant indigo energy._

" _That's it!" Five-Two-Three exclaimed while sprinting across the empty cavern. Something was nettling Six-Two-Six, and the armor felt stifling as he began the walk over. The Ice King was two-thirds of the way there before the reason for Six-Two-Six's concern became apparent._

 _The shaking was more violent than before. It put Five-Two-Three on his rump. Six-Two-Six barely stayed vertical as part of the cavern walls gave way. An avalanche of small boulders and giant pebbles pelted the duo. Dust choked the air, and blurred the helmet's visor. Six-Two-Six squinted into the scarlet, fighting to discern anything. Something was swirling the clouds. He leaned in closer._

 _The spike nearly implanted itself in his head._

 _The dust was settling, and after Six-Two-Six had rolled backward out of harm's way, he saw the creature unfurling. The spiked tail was retracting into an oblong body easily forty times the size of Six-Two-Six and covered in dozens of icy stalagmites. After he squinted a bit more, Six-Two-Six realized its body was actually a shell constructed from the same material as the cube, only duller and laced with veins of tough-looking rock. A head far too large for even its massive body craned, and loudly sniffed the dirtied air through a single circular nostril. Six-Two-Six thought that if Six-One-Nine were recreated as a malevolent and icy super-beast, he would look uncannily similar._

" _Oh yeah, I may have forgot to mention the Guardian…."_

 _Before Six-Two-Six could fire back his irate retort, the Guardian unleashed a wicked roar that thundered through the cavern. Six-Two-Six clamped his ears and struggled to maintain visual contact with the creature, which was scampering toward the gem's pedestal. Six-Two-Six regrouped with the Ice King, who was rising from the ground after his earlier spill._

" _Man, that monster's huge! I…y'know, he looks a little like Six-One-Nine, don't ya think?"_

Splodyhead launched a volley of fireballs into the air. It looked as though he enjoyed his entrance into the story, though he may not have fully approved of being made a villain.

"Yeah, he put you in there, isn't that sweet, what a good friend and _come on, get back to the story!_ " an irritated Bonnie screamed.

Slushy calmed her down, and winked at Splodyhead who then grumbled with smokiness, before continuing.

" _Okay then, we're gonna need to take him out before we can get to the gem. I'll distract him while you find a way to beat him."_

 _Six-Two-Six rocked his understanding, and the Ice King was off. He moved with incredible speed, almost sliding along the floor to close the distance to the Guardian. All the while, the Ice King was shifting his hands, and Six-Two-Six ducked as ice crystals tore from the wall and rocketed toward the creature. One of them nicked the top off a dorsal stalagmite, but the rest shattered against the Guardian's natural armor, which seemed to be immune to the Ice King's control._

 _A strange sound emanated from its circular nostril, and with little further warning, a beam of ice whizzed by Six-Two-Six's head. He could feel the beam leeching all the heat from the vicinity — his armor wheezed as it tried to maintain a constant temperature. The Ice King appeared unfazed and continued lobbing frozen missiles, but Six-Two-Six was far less the fan of ice than his compatriot. He dodged a few more frigid blasts, and worked his way toward the Guardian's rear. The armor was without cracks, except for the articulated joint at the creature's tail. Six-Two-Six danced away from the flailing appendage and motioned for the Ice King._

" _Here!" In the distance, the Ice King contorted his hands, and then an extremely sharp icicle formed at Six-Two-Six's feet. The armor cried out again as it tried to heat Six-Two-Six's paws once he carefully picked up the missile. Six-Two-Six waited for a few more swings of the tail, then he lined up his shot and let the icicle fly._

 _It impaled the Guardian's tail, and disappeared into the armor. The creature's wail was nigh unbearable, and the tail lashed furiously. The Ice King rejoined Six-Two-Six, and together, they watched the creature waddle drunkenly, smashing into the walls. They both smiled and waited for the creature to collapse._

 _The creature regained its footing. The blood chilled in Six-Two-Six's veins as the Guardian reared on its thick hind legs, and charged._

" _Uh, new plan!" Five-Two-Three yelped as they sprinted in opposite directions. The Guardian crashed into the wall, rattled its head, and reacquired its gray armored target._

 _Six-Two-Six led it on a desperate chase while the Ice King fired sharper icicles at the Guardian's tail. They bounced off with no effect. "I don't think ice'll stop it! We need heat, old friend!"_

 _Six-Two-Six's sapphire fur was damp. The running was warming him up quickly, and the suit was only trapping the heat. He ducked away from an ice beam and began zig-zagging. The roar was steady, and the ground shook under the Guardian's impending rampage. Six-Two-Six was panting — the heat was intolerable — and he needed something to…._

" _Aha!" Heat shimmered away as Six-Two-Six ripped off his armor's breastplate. He jimmied open the service slot that the Ice King had been blabbing about at some point, and fidgeted with every button and switch. Eventually, out popped a set of intertwining coils, along with a blaring alarm. His visor lit up with an urgent status report._

' _Heating element overload. Divest immediately.'_

 _Six-Two-Six rolled away from the Guardian at the last moment. The tail spike tickled the hairs on his neck before the creature slammed into the wall. Six-Two-Six reattached the breastplate and, while rolling the rapidly heating coils in his fireproofed hand, he wildly gesticulated his plan. The Ice King laughed wholeheartedly._

" _Oh yeah, I can handle that!"_

 _Five-Two-Three skated toward the Guardian, which bellowed at the sight. Down came the tail, the spike gleaming in what little light filled the cavern, and the Ice King juked at the proper moment. The spike embedded itself in the ground, and the Ice King let loose a blizzard. The sudden onslaught of ice and snow froze the tail to the cavern floor. "Okay, you're good—go!"_

 _And at the Ice King's command, Stitch ran up the tail, through the forest of stalagmites on the creature's outstretched and angry shelled body, and leaped atop the Guardian's head. It craned its neck to try to take a bite out of the intruder, and flared its nostril as it missed. In one motion, Six-Two-Six jumped, tossed the coils into the dark void, and flipped onto the gem's pedestal. The Guardian managed one good roar before the armor's heating element melted down and detonated. Six-Two-Six covered his helmet with armored hands as shards of Guardian exploded in all directions._

" _Ahhaha!" the Ice King belted out as he slid over to Six-Two-Six's pedestal. "Nice work! And you got yourself up there! Now grab that gem and let's go home!"_

 _The gem did not resist as Six-Two-Six plucked it from the air. The purple glow dimmed, and from behind the scarlet visor, it looked placid in his palm. There was little mass to it, but it felt much weightier. The promise of so much from this little gem. The Ice King's control over his domain…or the safeguarding of the other experiments._

 _Next to Six-Two-Six lay a fragment of icicle, discarded during the heat of battle yet still terribly sharp. It had serious heft to it, and at speed, it could probably break through the armor he wore. Or perhaps shatter an icy shell. Over the pedestal's edge, he leered at Five-Two-Three. The one who had left the other experiments behind. Sure, he had crashed on this planet, purely accidental. But he had never tried to contact the rest of them, or Jumba. Lost in space, turned his back on his kind. A traitor._

" _What're you doing up there. C'mon, let's—whoa!" The Ice King dodged the cold rocket, which shattered on impact. He glanced upward just in time to catch the gray elbow smacking into his face._

 _Six-Two-Six growled as the Ice King dusted himself off, wincing as the facial contusion smarted. "What's gotten into you! We have the gem, and when we get back, you'll have your ship. What else do you want?"_

 _The gem rolled around in Six-Two-Six's palm. He placed it between two fingers and taunted the Ice King. "Mine. For other experiments. Ones you left behind."_

" _Wha—no! I didn't leave anyone behind! This is…it's just that gem talking. It's been known to mess with your head, implant crazy thoughts. Just, just put it down, old friend."_

" _No! Need for Jumba and experiments. Money to help them."_

" _B-but I need it to rule! C'mon, just give me the gem, yeah? Then we can go back, and I'll find you some money, too, if that's what you want!"_

" _No! Gem is mine!" Six-Two-Six screeched. The helmet had come off, been thrown aside, and now his wide dark eyes were burrowing into the Ice King. Even without the suit, Six-Two-Six's blood would be boiling. A blind rage filled every cell. His claws slid from his fingers, clattering in barely restrained bloodlust._

" _Old friend, I…I…" Five-Two-Three stammered as he backed away, all the way up against the wall. Six-Two-Six marched forward, practically radiating fury. Behind his back, the Ice King began twiddling his fingers._

" _C'mon just—"_

" _No!"_

 _"I_ _—I don't want to_ _—"_

 _"No!"_

" _Fine! Then no one will have it!" Five-Two-Three thrust his hands at Six-Two-Six. Ice darts fired at tremendous speed. Six-Two-Six flinched, protecting himself from the barrage, but he forgot to enclose the gem, which was still held aloft between two fingers to tease the Ice King. The sound of shearing echoed several times in the cavern, and Six-Two-Six let go. When he did, the rage rushed out of his body._

 _Woozily, he blinked and knocked his head a few times. "Whu…" he managed before Five-Two-Three wrapped his arm around Six-Two-Six's neck. Softly and kindly._

" _I told you, old friend. We were finishing this together."_

 _Shame took the place of rage. Six-Two-Six's wide dark eyes were watering. He burbled out a couple sounds, but couldn't bring himself to talk._

" _It's okay, old friend. It's not your fault. The gem amplified and twisted the love you have for the other experiments…for us." The Ice King offered a warm smile. "That's the problem with that kind of power— it's terribly unpredictable." He kicked at where Six-Two-Six had discarded the gem. A pile of glittering dust puffed up on the kick's slipstream, and the gem sailed away on a current. The Ice King sighed. "It's a shame, too. Really could've used that."_

 _Six-Two-Six realized he had a chance to repay Five-Two-Three's kindness, and took it. He placed his hand on an icy shoulder. "No need. Good leader already. Did good job here today. People will follow."_

" _Aww, y'think? Well…thank you. Hopefully, you're right…alright, enough of this, it's time to go home now!"_

" _But…" Six-Two-Six warbled. "No heat." He tapped a limp claw on his breastplate._

" _Oh, uh…well, the suits heat through electricity, so some power source ought to handle it, at least until we get back." The Ice King twisted his wrists with his hands, bumping up against the holographic map unit. "Aha!" He tore away the bracelet and fiddled with the back panel. After some finagling, out came a silver sphere. He tossed it to Six-Two-Six, and it was warm to the touch._

" _Stick that in the heating element port — that should be sufficient."_

 _As he did so, Six-Two-Six wondered aloud, "But how we get back? Need map?"_

" _Oh no, I've got it memorized by now." The Ice King tapped his cranium. "Supercomputer brains and all. Maybe not as fast as yours, but it gets the job done."_

 _The armor reignited, and Six-Two-Six smiled as he reinserted his big head into the helmet._

" _There, better?" After Six-Two-Six gave the full-body nod, the Ice King smirked. "Now let's get out of here. Oh, and don't worry — you'll still be getting a ship. Don't know if it'll be the fastest in the fleet though…." The Ice King's smile brightened and grew more mischievous. He took off up the stairs, and Six-Two-Six bounded after him, after the Ice King who had never forgotten where he had come from._

Slushy closed to a flurry of applause. His cousins hooted and hollered, and Slushy bashfully hid from the ruckus by burying his head in his arm.

"Bravo! Well done!"

"Grade-A story, man!"

Leroy gave a thumbs-up from the fire. Angel giggled softly while she clapped. Bonnie offered a trite compliment. Even Gantu had a good word to say about it.

Stitch left his log and cut through the crowd to stand next to Slushy. The icy experiment lifted his head out and smirked when Stitch spoke. " _Bootifa_ , cousin. We real _achi-baba_!" Slushy's body was shockingly cold, and Stitch had to force himself to stop from shivering as he gave Slushy a big warm hug.

As their embrace ended, Slushy ended up fielding a question. "Y'know, I just realized…ya named yerself the _Ice King_. Bit presumptuous, yeah?" Reuben tossed out from his stump — he must have retreated at some point when everyone else was engrossed in the story.

Slushy gave a noncommittal shrug, but his widening grin sold him out. Stitch slapped him on the back and they laughed together. Several of the cousins joined in, including Reuben, and for a moment, they altogether simply enjoyed each other's company.

Slowly, the usual circles reformed. Slushy thanked his listeners and skedaddled as quickly as possible out from the domain of heat. Stitch was ready to resume his duties as fire-tender, but Leroy was still taking incredible joy from the job. Stitch had never seen his cousin wear such a goofy grin. Grudgingly, he relinquished control to Leroy, and went back to sit with his _boojiboo_. She certainly seemed happy with his decision.

A calmness sat in the night air. The cousins would be getting hungry again soon, but the spoils from Lilo's latest raid of the town's larder would probably keep them sated until morning. Everyone was milling around, laughing with their neighbors, sniffing at the smoky scent of the campfire, and excitedly retelling their favorite parts of Slushy's story. It was so peaceful that Stitch barely registered the weird rustlings coming from the jungle brush.

Angel noticed it, too, and began poking Stitch's belly. He giggled at first, but he sobered when he laid eyes on her worried expression. Ears were strained, and picked up the sounds again. Regular crunches, getting louder every few seconds. Other cousins had discovered the noise, and the group was hushing fast. From his perch, Reuben leaned toward Stitch and asked, "Hey man, ya hearin' footsteps or some—"

The jungle exploded. Twenty, thirty, forty creatures blew through the fronds, sending shredded leaves tumbling through the once-quiet air. Cousins shrieked and jostled, backing away from the suddenly alive jungle brush. A few were readying their powers, keen on unleashing some fireballs or icicles or claws and teeth.

Then Stitch went blind. He threw his arm over his eyes, which now saw only white. After a few moments in the shade, he started to make out that it was not only him. The ground was bathed in intense white light. Most of his ` _ohana_ were rolling on the ground, hiding their faces from whatever source was casting it. A short time later, he furtively peeked over his arm, and discerned the outline of a massive spotlight that had been set up near the back door of the house. A dozen of the jungle figures were marching ahead of the beams.

Stitch heard Gantu grumble, and saw him grapple for his weapon. The light must have been too bright, and the scene too chaotic. His fumbling only threw his weapon from his holster and sent it skidding along the grass, to be trampled by panicked ` _ohana._

Through the noise, Stitch picked out Cobra's voice, which sounded absolutely irate. "I already called off Langley! There's no need to send in the cavalry! He's under control!"

Another voice, gruff and grating, said, "I'm not buying it! Where's the fugitive? Those aliens are gonna want to throw him back in prison!"

At the mention of prison, Stitch whipped around. Reuben had hidden behind his stump, and was peeking out every few seconds. Stitch waggled his free arm, and finally nabbed Reuben's attention on the fourth try. Stitch gestured at Reuben, then pointed to Leroy, who was still rolling on the ground from the shock of the light. Reuben understood immediately, and started coaxing Leroy behind the stump. Leroy resisted at first, tossing a few haymakers, but eventually followed Reuben to his hiding spot.

No sooner had Leroy slipped behind the stump than did Stitch hear a click above him. He gazed up at a hulking man, clad in fully black military operational gear and carting a much-too-large firearm. The man had a huge bushy beard that consumed the bottom half of his face.

"Hah!" Surprised, Stitch glanced to his side to find that Lilo sat next to him. She must have scrambled over in the commotion to be with her best friend. Stitch felt touched, but concern for her safety quickly won out. "See, Nani, I told you!" She pointed accusatorially at the man's beard. "Werewolf ninjas!"

The man growled, and she retracted her finger with a scowl. Stitch pushed her away, and when she argued that she should be protecting him, he gently but firmly corrected her. Lilo slunk away over toward where Nani, Jumba, and Pleakley had been cordoned off.

The big man knelt down, and his hazel eyes locked with Stitch's wide dark ones. "I'm going to ask you this once, alien." Another click on the gun — the safety disengaging. "Where is the fugitive you call Leroy?"

#


	7. Chapter 7 - For Batwing17

**_Another story idea proposed by Batwing17. This one was thoroughly enjoyable, especially in capturing the narrator's unique style. As always, please feel free to R & R. My thanks again to Batwing17! - Euphonemes_**

* * *

 _The Fire of Futures Past_

"Hey, now…take it easy fellas, m'kay?"

Reuben had moved forward to join Stitch, who had been dazzled by the halogen floodlights. His goldenrod hands were obsequiously raised — a fine decision as the gun barrel leveled on him. Stitch immediately shielded his cousin and uttered a low growl.

"No way, champ. Don't do it. You might be bulletproof, but _they_ aren't." A wavering claw pointed at the humans corralled against the tree line. Jumba and Pleakley had been restrained elsewhere — Stitch couldn't see their exact location amid the ocean of artificial white. Instead, he watched Lilo's eyes glitter, and heard her whimpering sniffle as they connected. Stitch had resolved to keep the werewolf ninjas away from her, and he intended to keep his promise.

" _Oketaka_ ," Stitch relented. He let go of Reuben, who skittered back toward his stump. Stitch's gaze followed his cousin, and a quick flash of infrared confirmed Leroy still hid behind them both. He wasn't moving much. Stitch wondered if the chaos and commotion had accidentally lulled Leroy to sleep. _Or maybe it was the head trauma?_

Cobra was screaming from near the house, running around and issuing orders to stand down and lower their weapons and such. It was a visibly slow wave, much like coaxing syrup out of its bottle and onto Stitch's daily dose of pancakes. But, the werewolf ninjas were obeying their bald-headed sensei. One by one, the guns were dropping. The floodlights were being switched off, or at least dimmed enough to let Stitch stop squinting.

Despite the propitious changes, one gun was still trained on its target. The leader, no doubt, had his finger twitching, aching to squeeze that trigger. "I won't let you stop me…." he asserted. "I have my orders. Now tell me — where is he!"

The barrel three inches from his nose, Stitch straightened. On two legs, he proudly stared along the weapon, and glared at the creature threatening his _ohana_. He drew in a deep breath and flashed his sharpened teeth.

Then out came the tongue and, "Pbthpbthpbth!"

The werewolf ninja appeared completely surprised by the outburst. Stitch believed it was a contingency for which the creature had not planned. The gun went slack for a few moments, but then solidified again just as fast.

"Raspberry _me_ , eh? Now you're gonna git it!" Stitch closed his eyes as the hammer pulled back.

"Soldier! Stop! That's an order!" Cobra's easily distinguishable voice barked. Stitch peeked through pursed eyelids to see Cobra whacking away the gun. A loud rapport sounded as the weapon discharged into the dirt. Stitch could see Lilo flinch from the sound, and it took every ounce of learned restraint he had to not tear apart the commando.

"Sir, I'm here to carry out my orders!"

"No, son, you're not. New ones in from Langley. Stand down and await further instruction." Cobra waved his cell phone in the soldier's face. He snatched it away and scrolled through Cobra's email. Stitch swallowed in nervous anticipation, listening to the only sound, the crackling of his fire. The flames were weakening, as its newly installed keeper was hiding — or sleeping — behind Reuben's stump.

Finally, the click of a gun's safety, and the weapon lowered. Stitch let free a torrent of bottled breath. Though the bullet wouldn't hurt him, now it couldn't do any ancillary damage. The leader of the platoon shouted for his men to fall back, though he cautioned Stitch that the strike force would remain along the perimeter of their property before he snagged a couple squares of finger sandwiches and stormed off. No sooner did they begin their retreat than did Lilo come running up to Stitch and wrap him up in a bear hug.

"Oh Stitch I'm so glad you're not hurt you were so brave thank you for protecting us!" A flurry of words flew from the little girl. Stitch blinked confusedly as she squeezed his chest. By this point, he had become accustomed to Lilo's demonstrations of affection. And on occasion, he even let himself enjoy the hugs and familial love, so antithetical to his nature and yet so warm and fluffy that he couldn't pass them up.

"Cobra," Lilo said as she released Stitch from her wonderful embrace, "who were those guys? And what did they want with Leroy?"

"Ah yes, well….remember when I said a pacification force was coming for Leroy? You just met them."

"Ach, yes, and will be pleasing to know that we will not be meeting them again soon…" Jumba bumbled forward, rubbing his wrists chafed by Earthen restraints. "Certainly did _not_ enjoy being incarcerated again."

"Even so," Cobra's velvet voice lowered, "they're going to form a chain around us, keep us penned in here while they wait for Federation forces to arrive. So it looks like Leroy may not be out of it yet."

"…did he…he did! He did sleep through all of it!" Lilo had wandered behind the stump, and was jumping as she shouted. The noise seemed to jar Leroy from his slumber. His crimson head poked out of cover, and he massaged his bleary eyes and yawned.

"Ah, welcome back to land of living, Leroy, heh heh…" Jumba chuckled. Leroy stumbled for a few steps as the last vestiges of sleep slipped away, and after a round of stretches, he joined the tight circle.

"Miss something?"

Cobra was certainly not amused. Stitch saw a thin vein pop from the agent's forehead. The blue line quivered as Cobra worked to hold back his rage. "The government sent an elite team to extract you. Your family kept you safe while you…rested. They're now waiting for the Federation to show up and do what they will to you. I suggest, then, that you thank your family and enjoy their company for as long as you can." Cobra whipped around and strode to the house, everyone watching in silence until he slammed the screen door, which squeaked on the rebound.

" _Taka_ , Stitch," Leroy said immediately. Stitch waved in conciliatory fashion, then mentioned that Leroy should get going on a thanking binge. With a quick nod, Leroy was off into the crowd, surprising everyone with kind words.

"That should keep 'im busy for a while," Reuben opined. He had staked out his solitary claim once more near the stump. "While we're waitin', I guess we could do a few more stories?"

Stitch nodded emphatically, and soon, Reuben had issued the call. The Experiments milling about coalesced again into the same circles as before. Save for Heckler, who had pushed himself into the inner circle, hanging around awfully close to Angel's little spot on the log.

"Think it's time I get my shot, yeah?"

Reuben put up no fight. "Alright, Heckler, fine. You're up!"

 _Chapter 7_

 _Heckler's Story_

"Haha, finally!" Heckler charged to the very front, his huskier frame blocking out a few rays of light from the campfire. Ominously eclipsed in shadow, he leaned into the crowd, who had fallen totally silent, and wasted no time in beginning.

 _I had always been a fan of the races. Turo had many options for entertainment, that was pretty clear. I think everybody on this planet has some vice they call their own. Some like the bottle, others the women. Those are all well and good._

 _But for me, nothing beat race day. There was an old track, filled with historic moments of greatness. It was the shortest in the Galactic Cup — a few twists and turns through a dried-out riverbed. Child's play compared to the low-g jumps over lava floes on Plorgonar. But man, on this track, speed was king. No other race had its drivers going as fast as they could on Turo. Every land speed record since time immemorial had been set, and broken again and again, on this track._

 _The driver who had broken five such records, he was one of my favorites. Might have been nepotism, though. Not sure what favoring your cousin is called. But that guy. Struck fear into everyone's hearts. The Terror of Turo._

 _Experiment Three-Two-Two!_

"What!" Pleakley screamed. "First of all, Plorgonar is a lovely place, and there would be no low-gravity jumping there! And second, this story isn't supposed to be about _you_!"

"Ah, pipe down, Pleakley, ya wet noodle. I was just kiddin'. You and your rules…." Heckler shifted in place a bit, allowing Stitch to plainly see his fire, though a bit tired, was still burning just fine.

" _Yeah, Experiment Three-Two-Two, still couldn't ditch that name. I didn't mind it too much — the Turans had really chilled out about the whole illegal genetic experiment thing. I'm sure the Blue Demon had something to do with that, too._

 _He had a couple names. Six-Two-Six, The Terror of Turo, the Blue Demon, Hot Stuff…whoops, didn't mean to repeat that one. Only one of our cousins ever called him that. At the end of every race, every victory, she would wrap her arm through his and share in the applause. Her pink curls would bobble as they bowed and cheered and all that. They were cute together, really. Six-Two-Four played the part of doting lover well, I suppose._

 _Jumba had given his favorite the head start into the league — the money, the crew, the inroads. The fa…portly scientist had been let out after the universe had calmed down. Made a pretty penny afterward, too. His smarts were a hot commodity. The Turans even gave him a good-sized plot of land in their esteemed countryside. We had all been freed right about then, too, all tossed onto his lawn, all eagerly figuring out where we belonged in this new world._

 _I had opened up a comedy club. It did alright — Turans had a weird sense of humor, more fart jokes than you'd expect. Most of us found a calling we enjoyed, and they usually paid the bills. But the Blue Demon, he had taken to racing Jumba's hovercar around the property, executing hairpin turns and sick flips. Maybe some of that was by design— he was a good pilot thanks in large part to Jumba's specs. I like to think, though, that some of it was…I dunno, divine inspiration. Something bigger than who he was designed to be. That bit's important: remember it for later._

 _The Blue Demon was getting ready to win his umpteenth race, eight laps into a pretty standard ten lap race around the track, when it happened. I watched the whole thing unfold. Really hated it, too. It was dumb. Some jerk didn't attach a gasket properly onto one of the pods. Yeah, these guys would race pods, that's what they called them. Slick-looking things. Something about using supermagnets to levitate the pods off the ground, and some shielding to prevent wind resistance, that's what made them so fast. And so dangerous. The magnets had to be kept in spheres that jutted out and away from the cab itself, connected by a few flimsy strings that were prone to complaining and failure…very much like Pleakley._

"Hey!" Pleakley whined. A few cousins tapped him to shush him.

Heckler chuckled softly. "Yeah, very flimsy, but anyway…."

 _Gaskets held those strings in place, to prevent the whole craft from falling apart. The Blue Demon's were perfect — he meticulously examined each one before the start of the race. One of his opponents, though, was much more lax with his inspection. The gasket went flying, and the magnetic spheres repelled each other with incredible force. It split the cab in two, and the whole twisted mess went flying through the air._

 _Worst part was, this guy was already in last place. Biggest loser on the course. He should've given up already. But for some reason, he still thought he could win. My cousin was getting ready to lap the guy when that pod broke down. And that cloud of pieces tore right into the Blue Demon's ride._

 _Several days passed. We all waited for him to wake up. Doctors said they didn't know the extent of the damage. I know that's doctor-speak for 'It's bad.' The broken limbs wouldn't bother him. We were all engineered to take big hits and bounce back quick. The bruising and the scarring, they're the same. But Jumba had mentioned that there were a few ways to hurt us, injuries that even he didn't know if we could recover from. One soft spot was the eyes._

 _Guess where the magnets hit._

"… _g…gaba? Where…" muttered my cousin. His hands flew up to the bandages wrapped around his head. He pulled at them, but they wouldn't give. "Jumba? Boojiboo?"_

 _Jumba and Six-Two-Four were by his side in a heartbeat. She had been crying, easy to tell from her puffy eyes. Jumba was a harder nut to crack, but even he looked upset — that was never a good sign. I sidled up to the bed, the fizzy drink I had just hammered out of a stubborn vending machine in hand, and slurped as softly as I could while Six-Two-Six broke down._

" _Boojiboo…yuuga…yuuga face! Where…erm, where isa…." Stitch groped around, trying to lay a hand on Six-Two-Four's face._

 _Another waterfall opened up. She couldn't handle it — I don't blame her, either. Her everything had been maimed, ruined by chance and circumstance. Frustrating, heartbreaking. The soda was good, though, very bubbly and sweet._

" _Six-Two-Six, good to see you are being awake," Jumba meekly offered. Six-Two-Four's wailing nearly drowned him out. "Ehm…doctors say your eyes, they are…be leaving bandage on for now, yes? I will get nurse, maybe we can be leaving this horrid place now." He chickened out. Went flying out of the room and down a long sterile hallway. Well, flying is a stretch — more like a beached whale trying to crawl back into the ocean. He eventually waddled his way down the hallway, shouting for someone to free his beloved Six-Two-Six from this clean prison._

"Ach!" came Jumba's disgusted interjection. "Am not that, erm, _husky_!" He slapped his belly, which rippled under his very taut Aloha shirt. A few cousins snickered, and their creator sighed.

"Nah, Jumba, it's just a story. You look great!" assured Lilo. Stitch smiled at her too-kind words, which made Jumba blush — though he'd never admit that in public. Angel had tightened her grip on his arm. It was growing evident that the story was bothering her. Perhaps the thought of someone or something hurting her _boojiboo_ had her worried. Stitch thought it was cute, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. It seemed to help.

"Yep, that's right, just a story." Heckler was far less convincing, which evoked a few more laughs from the crowd. "All right, enough of that now."

 _Jumba did find a nurse, who found another nurse, who found a doctor, who found his actual doctor, who sent a nurse anyway to prep the Blue Demon for departure. Man, I hate hospitals. And worst of all, during this whole debacle, my drink went flat — cheap can._

 _His legs were fine, but they still poured him into a wheelchair. Didn't want him bumping into any sharp corners. Jumba was the only one tall enough to push the chair until we hit the wall of Turan morning air. It tasted funny here around the city, it was too heavy I guess. The Blue Demon didn't mind much — I could hear his nose sniffing at something that wasn't recycled, scrubbed, and sanitized air._

 _I walked alongside the chair as we headed to Jumba's hovercar. The mad doctor had outfitted it with a cool looking sidecar to hold onto the chair and whatnot. The Blue Demon's head swiveled around. I'll bet he was attempting to look through the blindfold, catch a peek at the car that Jumba was prattling on about. Or maybe just a glance at the low Turan sun. Either way, all he would see was black._

 _I don't know what made me offer to help him out after it happened. He had plenty of other cousins, and they were all willing to go to bat for him. Maybe I was just following the crowd. But I guess what was more surprising is that he accepted my help. We had the family bond, of course, but we'd never been super close. Although, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think he was close to any of us, really. The whole Blue Demon persona bit, it look a lot of effort. He was never really able to hang out with us, or visit us at our other shops and stuff. He might've set foot in the comedy club once or twice, but I can't be sure._

 _Maybe he saw that I was kind of a loner, too. I got along with everyone just fine, of course. But I have a tendency to…speak my mind. Some don't like hearin' what I have to say. Can't blame me, y'know, just like you can't blame Six-One-Nine for blowing birds out of the sky with his nose…why couldn't I have a cool power like that?_

"Huh, Splodyhead sure is popular these days…" grumbled one of the audience members. Splodyhead retorted with a plasma blast that arced over the cousins and fell down the cliff, into the sea below.

"Well, he _does_ have a cool power," Reuben reluctantly admitted. He shuffled his goldenrod feet in the dirt while Stitch worked around him, prodding the fire to life while Leroy skittered about his business. "But — oh, yer welcome Leroy — but not as good as my sandwich-makin' skill," Reuben concluded with a little more levity.

"Yeah, your talent really shows," Heckler offered while jiggling his own belly. It took Reuben a few moments to catch on, but when he did, he laughed himself back onto his stump.

 _A couple weeks passed by at Jumba's estate. The Blue Demon barely got out of bed. The bandage finally fell off on its own. Should've kept wearin' it if ya ask me. His eyes had scabbed over. They were still dark, but not shiny anymore. Dull and boring. Like if Pleakley were—_

"Okay! That's it!" Pleakley whined from his area. "Stop making fun of me! I do _not_ need this!"

The cousins knew that Pleakley was trying to be serious. That made it funnier, and as the former Federation agent became more irate, the chuckles became guffaws. Pleakley started stomping his tentacles in the dirt, which produced a squelching sound that exacerbated the ridiculousness. This exchange continued on for several minutes — Heckler simply let it proceed.

Over the commotion, Stitch heard Reuben shout at Heckler. "Why aren't ya tryin'a take control?"

"What, and ruin _this_? This is _way_ funnier than anything I could manage!"

Heckler was right, of course. Even Angel was laughing with gusto, letting out a tiny snort that Stitch adored hearing. He cozied up to her, and they laughed and snorted together with all but one of their _ohana_. The fire roared with them all.

Eventually, the laughs died away, washed out into the nighttime sea. Pleakley was simply steamed. His tentacles were limp, exhausted from his useless flailing. His voice had hoarsened after so much effort in trying to rise above the noise of the cousins. He squirreled himself away in the farthest reaches of the outer circle, probably closer to the armed guards than to the family.

"Aww, we mean well, Pleakley. Thanks for bein' such a good sport," Heckler chimed in. "But after that intermission, think it's time we get back to the story."

 _But after a time, the Blue Demon did rise again. He hobbled around, arms outstretched and touching everything. He'd run his hands all over my face, or Six-Two-Four's face, or Jumba's fat mug, to figure out who was who. Six-Two-Four's fur was invariably damp with tears when he got to her. I really did feel bad for her._

 _Six-Two-Six and I talked about that during one of those early days. It was sunny — not that he could see. Maybe he felt it, though, the heat on his fur, the lightness of the air. Either way, we had found ourselves outside after some stumblin' around. We sat down on the steps, overlooking the big grass lawn, the Federation's payment to keep Jumba quiet and happy._

" _Meega soka."_

" _For what? You didn't do anything wrong." I think I was being helpful. Probably a better answer than slurping from a can._

" _Meega boojiboo…s…." He couldn't finish. Broke down into sobs. I'd never seen him this way. He was always such a…winner. Like, he would be the one atop the pedestal, everyone cheering his name while his opponents, the ones he'd beaten, would go off and cry. Never this guy, though._

" _I know," I started helping again. "She's pretty sad. Can't be easy for her."_

" _Meega…nala see boojiboo again."_

" _Yeah, you wanna see her, I understand." That didn't help. Figured that out when started sobbin' again. I'm really bad at this kind of stuff, in case you couldn't tell. I wasn't built to be a therapist._

 _We didn't get much further after that. Nothing I could say would've made it better anyway. He went on at length about missing her beautiful eyes, or seeing her gorgeous smile, or watching her long coils of fur bob in the breeze."_

"Psst, hey man, I'm giving you some free lines here!" Heckler made a show of whispering quite loudly to Stitch. Angel chuckled, then turned and stared dead-on at Stitch's temple. He gave a nervous wave, then softly relayed one of the lines Heckler had provided into her ear. She enjoyed it, and they scooched closer together on their log.

"Heh, be working every time," Jumba commented. He was standing alone near the middle of the circle after Pleakley had stormed off to pout. "Was line I used on first wife."

"Oh, well see, that went so great, didn't it?" Heckler had Jumba huffing, while a few cousins tittered quietly. "Now then…."

 _After a while, the Blue Demon got the hang of things again. He moved around on his own. Didn't need me hobblin' alongside. He started talking about using his super-fine hearing to figure out where he was headed. Finding your way by sound — whoever heard of something like that?_

 _Things between him and his girl were improving, too. She had stopped bursting into tears whenever he came round. He was always on the verge as well, don't let him tell ya otherwise. But they were picking up where they had left off. They'd go and sit somewhere together, just sit there for hours as the sun went up and down. Not my thing, but cute all the same. He seemed contented, as if everything were starting to make sense again. That was good to see._

 _And it made it all the more surprising when he demanded to get back in the pod. So outta the blue, right there at dinner one night. We're all snacking away, and he slams his fist on the table and shouts, "Meega must race again!" Jumba and I, we just start laughing. It woulda been perfect for a routine at my club. His girl chided us, but even she didn't look so confident. But he did not waver. Impressive, really._

 _So we took him outside, lent him the keys to Jumba's hovercar, and told him to drive around the block. And wouldn't it be great if he had done it? Just zoomed away, made us all eat our words? That woulda been something._

 _Jumba wasn't mad about the car. The missing fender and the dents could be fixed. But he was furious about the tree the Blue Demon had demolished. A rare breed, imported I think. Who imports a tree? Anyhow, Jumba was pretty mad, but I think a bit of him was curious. Wanted to see if the Blue Demon still had it._

 _They practiced, day in and day out. I would sit on the steps, basking in the sun with a cool drink in hand, and watch as Six-Two-Six majestically smashed that car into every bush, shrub, and rock on Jumba's property. And the Blue Demon would, without fail, conclude his latest collision with a string of wonderful curses. Truly remarkable combinations the likes of which Tantalog would never see again. Put me to shame, that's for sure._

 _And I'll be darned if he didn't stop crashing into every possible thing on that lawn. At first, I figured he'd just memorized the map — that rock there, this tree here. But Jumba would go out there and toss some new obstacles on the course. And the Blue Demon would zip right past 'em, not even blink — so to speak. He said it had something to do with how he put his ears to work. He could "hear the course" around him, figure out where he needed to go._

 _I mean, even if I bought it, it's one thing to do that in a hovercar on friendly turf. Another matter entirely in one of those pods in hostile territory. Those things are fast — like stupid, ridiculous fast. Don't even know if sound would keep up. And he could maybe sneak a few practice laps, but those courses were so unpredictable. You could get rockslides, or faults cracking open, volcanoes erupting, who know what…._

 _Why did I care? That was the weirdest part. Not too long ago, I could barely rattle off his Experiment designation without a little assistance. All of a sudden, I could tell you his deepest fears and desires. I could tell you how much he missed seeing Six-Two-Four's face. I knew everything there was to know. And I worried._

 _I'd never done that before, worry about someone. And I don't mean worry about pointless stuff, like if someone's gonna blow their comedy skit. Fun fact: they all do, but it doesn't matter, it's still funny one way or another. No, I mean worry like about if someone is gonna be okay. If they'll get back up after they blow it._

 _So I worried when race day neared. No one had ever expected someone to race those pods blind. Ever. They didn't even have a rule against it. But, this being a bureaucratic world, somebody on some committee made a stink about it right after the Blue Demon announced his comeback. He was itching to go out there and do what he did best. Reclaim his title. And a board of jerks stood in his way._

 _The pod racing league was governed by a board of directors. Surly-looking group who were never hugged enough as children — if they were ever children at all. Led by this really tall, huge guy. Used to be some big-shot in the Federation armed forces. Smelled like bad fish, that's all I remember. Rancid, left out in the sun, really gross stink._

The growl that emanated from Gantu's region quieted the orator. Heckler sat back on his haunches for a moment. Stitch thought his cousin must have been utterly taken aback by the former captain, who seemed not to know if he should stand and deliver his rebuke, or stayed seated and silent. Perhaps Gantu learned his lesson from Pleakley's example, for he chose the latter.

Heckler breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Thought I was a goner after that one…" Stitch heard Heckler mutter. "Right, back to it, I guess. Whad'ya say, Fish-Lips?" Heckler didn't pause for a response.

 _The Blue Demon, decked out in his racing suit, was pacing nervously outside the imposing wooden doors. Luckily, he had put his suit on the right way this time — for all he had learned, using zippers without sight still frustrated the guy. Six-Two-Four kept in step, and kept trying to calm him down. Jumba stood by the window looking over the Turan dirt track. He didn't have much to say — fat lotta good he did us...no, that's not fair. He had done quite enough. Better to let Six-Two-Six do the talkin' anyway._

 _Our cousins, though, they had banded together. Campaigned round the clock to get the Blue Demon back on the track. During his rehabilitation, the Blue Demon had visited each of them. Can you imagine hanging out with that many of us? I wouldn't want to…but he did. More time on his hands, maybe. But he got to know all of them much better than before. I think they liked that — might've helped when it came time for the board meeting. Of course, they supported him, but they couldn't all fit in this tiny waiting room. Undeterred, they camped outside. Maybe that's what Jumba was checking on — the hundreds of cousins who waited patiently but noisily behind the window._

 _And again, I was surprised Six-Two-Six picked me to go with him. I guess this whole thing surprised me. Out of all of us, all of his family, me. Standing in that room, I suddenly realized how thirsty I was._

 _So there I was, loudly smacking my parched lips, and he stopped. Sniffed the air a bit, twisted his head around, and walked to me. We were nearly touching noses before he spoke, barely above a whisper. Not cowed, but confident, as determined as he was when he ran over that tree._

" _Cousin…yuuga achi-baba. Help show meega what isa important. Good friend to meega. Would not be here without yuuga…taka."_

 _That's when I got it._

 _Sadly, wish I could say the board of directors got it, too. Oh, they were mad just at the audacity of the Blue Demon asking what he did. The big fishy director, he was all up in arms about abominations on his track, and something about how wrong it was. Whatever, the smelly jerk. They're weren't ready for it, I don't think. Weren't sure how to handle the situation._

 _The cousins didn't take kindly to the board's refusal. They camped outside that office for days. Long enough to get the board to reverse its decision. The smelly one resigned in protest — good riddance, he can go stink up some other board room. To be honest, though, I don't know how much of it had to do with us. By that point, word had gotten round about the Blue Demon's plea. All across the galaxy, everyone clamored to see him in action again. He was a fan favorite, a real crowd pleaser. By then, the board couldn't say no._

 _And so, here I sit now, high up in the stands. Hundreds of our kind fill the seats below me. Six-Two-Four is barely behind the guardrail, so eager to hop out on that course and hug the one she adores. It's cute. Really, it is._

 _But me, I'm good back here. I spot him running a claw along his brand new pod, courtesy of Jumba's pocketbook. He had taken to wrapping a kerchief around his busted eyes — a black cloth, with two tails that flapped in the slight wind. I told him I thought it was a little much, but he liked it. Said it felt right._

 _Before he went out on that track today, we talked. Next to the pod, which sat patiently for the race to begin. Sun was up, and it was warm. He stood still for a moment, smiling as the light hit his face. Good to see him smiling, I gotta admit._

 _Went through a pre-flight systems check routine. Made sure the gaskets were locked in place and all. He had brought me a drink, too — what a saint, I tell ya. We talked about his strategy, how he would listen to the course and find his way. He was pretty talented by now. I told him how his girl was raring to get him after the race was over. After he won, of course — that made him laugh. Even better to hear him laugh._

 _We had just finished ensuring every piece of the racing pod was set for launch. Even without his eyes, he could see, in a sense, where each piece needed to be, where it belonged. Connected to his machine. He ran a finger over the control console, outfitted with a few new doodads to help him fulfill his new strategy. He turned to me. "Meega ready," he assured me. Or maybe he said it for himself, I dunno, I'm not good at this. Either way, I could tell he was right._

 _As he hopped into the pilot's seat, and I helped strap him in, I thought of how far he had deviated from his design. Six-Two-Six had been built as a weapon of mass destruction…okay, technically we all had, but he had the best shot at it. He was meant to destroy everything. But beyond the occasional imported tree, that urge didn't really seem to strike him. Naturally, he was pretty cocky before he lost his sight, too wrapped up in his own world to see us. But now, humility…wish I could say more on that, but I'm at a total loss there._

 _I guess what I'm trying to say is that Six-Two-Six was designed to be someone great. Truly special. And he turned out to be. But it's not because of his design. No, something much more inspired drove him to be better. To become the first blind pod racer in history — almost sounds insane once I say it aloud. I don't think his designer had it in mind that his creation would ever become more than what had been laid out in those carefully calculated specs. And that's a good thing, I think, to be more than his design...s_ _ee, told ya that'd be important later._

" _And they're off!" The announcement is loud, but nothing like the roar of the pods as they zip away on levitating supermagnets. We all get the flash of his smile before he takes off. He had laughed about taking the lead, but I had a feeling he'd do just fine._

 _Like I said, I love the races. I love 'em even more now that my cousin, my…my friend, can win again. Nothing sweeter than that…well, maybe Turan soda. But Six-Two-Six is a close second._

The fire flared brilliantly as Heckler ended his story. Aside from the last few whispers of "Thank You" from a winded Leroy at the end of his thanking spree, the crowd was silent. Heckler smirked and then plopped onto his haunches, tired from the effort. Stitch leaned back, confident the cousins had loved the story, and wondered who would be the first to break the odd quiet.

To Stitch's great surprise, his companion did. Angel had relinquished her hold on her _boojiboo_ , and was laughing softly and clapping boisterously. The rest of the family joined her with no hesitation. Heckler did deserve it, after all.

"Bravo!" shouted Jumba. "Even with jokes of my fatness, is good story!"

Most shockingly, Pleakley had returned to the group, and was clapping along, albeit more lackadaisically than the others. "Yeah, it was fine, I guess…" he murmured.

In between more compliments, and Heckler's ostentatious bowing, Angel and Stitch had reconnected. She caressed his cheeks, and ran her hand up and around his eyes. Stitch believed the story had disturbed her, the thought of losing a piece of her _boojiboo_ unconscionable. He held fast to her hand, leaning his cheek into her embrace. They smiled together, then snuggled up, noses just slightly touching. Basking in the warmth of each other and the fire.

The fire that Leroy was now tending with great care. After thanking his hundreds of cousins, it looked like he was determined for some peace and quiet. Stitch felt a great pride well up in his own stomach, witnessing Leroy's transformation from galactic terror into mild and loving family member. Stitch hoped the whole bit wasn't simply an act, but something sincere did seem to burn in Leroy's eyes as he tossed another log onto the flames and rearranged the firewood with precision.

The screen door slammed again, and Cobra jogged out of the house. He was cradling his phone in one hand, and a specially constructed sandwich in the other. Stitch's stomach gurgled, a reminder that the next snack time would soon need to begin.

"Got…off the phone…with…superiors," he managed while wolfing down his salami and bologna. "Federation will…be here…within the hour."

All eyes fell to Leroy, who had stepped back to admire his fire. Normally, Stitch would expect his cousin to growl aggressively, or threaten to bomb the place into oblivion. But Leroy only shrank away, emitting a sad whimper at the thought of leaving. "What _meega_ do now?" he meekly asked of his fate.

No one had anything to offer for a solid minute. Only the crackling of the new log on the fire filled the air behind the house. Stitch gazed into Angel's eyes, hoping she could volunteer something. But she curled up closer, burying her head in his sapphire chest. Like many of her cousins, it seemed Angel had gained a new appreciation for Leroy, and hated to think of what would happen to their cousin when the Federation's pacification force arrived.

"Well, I know what _we_ should do!" Lilo had bolted to the front, startling a few cousins along the way. She was eager and excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. With the light and the shadow cast across her face, the smile she gave seemed terrifying, haunted even. "Now…we _feast_!"

#


	8. Chapter 8 - For Inferno19900828

**A/N: My thanks to Inferno19900828 for the suggestion for the speaker in this chapter! I tried to work in a slightly different style to this particular tale, and I'm looking forward to feedback on it. As always, please enjoy another story told around the campfire, and feel free to offer more suggestions or ideas! ~ Euphonemes**

* * *

 _The Fire of Futures Past_

And lo, they feasted.

The massive larder that was once a kitchen had been nearly emptied again, picked clean by hundreds of ravenous beasties. A few crumbs, almost too small for Squeak, littered the tiled floor. Stitch stood straight in the doorway, admiring the feat of consumption his cousins had accomplished.

"Hey Stitch," Lilo shouted a few feet behind him. "The werewolf ninjas said thanks again for the sandwiches!"

In an expression of her bountiful aloha spirit, Lilo had drafted a few Experiments into her own little Sandwich Brigade and had traversed the perimeter created by the human soldiers, passing out snacks and treats from a few trays. Even from the inner circle, Stitch could hear the grumbles of gratitude from the soldiers. As they munched away, he had secretly pined for the return of the scent of the good bologna Lilo had given out. Lilo had then reported that her squad had successfully delivered food to all but two of the werewolf ninjas — one was the leader, a gruff and rude ninja who had already stolen a few slices of bread and meat; the other had a wheat allergy.

"Well if he can't have bread…wonder if we have any rice in here…" Stitch listened to Lilo mutter as she breezed past him and began scouring the remains of the kitchen. Her search was methodical, but easily distracted by the sounds emanating from outside. She turned around more than once to peer over Stitch's head when an especially jovial laugh rang out, somehow able to hear them in between her banging of cupboards and rattling of pans. Despite her little setbacks, Stitch understood her resolve. Content that Lilo would find what she needed, he left his post by the door and headed to his spot in the circle.

The inclusion of food tended to make everyone cheerier, and this latest round of snacking was no exception. Cousins lazed about and chattered idly. The fire had intensified since last Stitch saw — no doubt Leroy's doing — and warm flickering orange bathed most of his _ohana_. Their shadows flitted and twirled, dancing in time with their laughs and conversations. The good bologna now devoured, an overpowering and unmistakable scent of burnt timber hung in between the spaces of the circle.

His nose twitched as Stitch closed in on the campfire. When he neared his favorite spot on his log, sharp eyesight discerned the huge pile of white ash accumulating at the fire's base. The crispy remnants of the palm frond Stitch had used for sweeping now lay beside the stump. Leroy, Stitch determined, would need a proper lesson on cleanliness with his fire.

But he decided that lesson would need to wait. While the rest of his _ohana_ was busy doing nothing, Stitch had wanted to pull aside Cobra and inquire further on the fate of Leroy. He figured the Federation would be nearing the planet soon, and so he desired a plan of action to address their arrival. Cobra was the most obvious candidate. But, as Stitch scanned the circle, he failed to catch sight of the glinting bald head. A bit frustrated, Stitch then decided he should ask the second most qualified candidate on his list.

"Eh? Yes Six-Two-Six, what is matter?"

The very short tails of Jumba's Aloha shirt flapped as he gestured, the cloth damp with perspiration. Despite the cool evening, and the slight chilly breeze blowing in from over the ocean, Stitch's creator sweated profusely. For him, the horridly humid climate had always proven problematic, though he rarely complained — "is much better than stuffy Federation jail cell…" Jumba would retort when questioned.

Stitch patiently drew out his query. Jumba understood perfectly, and had much to say on the subject of the challenges soon to be facing Leroy. Sadly, most of it was drivel. Absurd invective directed at the "imbeciles" occupying the seat of galactic government. Typical for the portly scientist.

Stitch tried to pay attention, but his powerful mind lost focus, just as it usually did when something bored him. Though Jumba was not much of an evil scientist, Stitch thought that he babbled like one. Perhaps Jumba was more the mad scientist…or maybe he was indeed the "idiot scientist," the moniker that the Federation had so endearingly bestowed. Stitch had forever doubted that — Stitch had been _born_ from Jumba's tinkering, and he certainly felt like no idiot. No, he was an evil scientist, an oddly altruistic one, but tinged with a hint of evil all the same.

"Pah! Six-Two-Six, you are not even listening to me!"

Stitch sheepishly acknowledged Jumba's accusation with a sad nod. He didn't mean to be manipulative — not _too_ manipulative, anyway — but he also gave Jumba a heaping dose of puppy-dog eyes. Lilo's insistence to the unknowing townspeople that Stitch was a dog had required the experiment to adopt a few tricks perfected by real canines. Aside from scratching an ear with a foot claw and licking a few inappropriate things, the mournful wide eyes proved one of the most valuable.

"Ach, cannot be staying mad at you…okay, so Leroy will be facing down Federation pacification force. Nasty group of imbeciles, highly trained and very mean. Much like when you were taken, Six-Two-Six. Will be being lots of smoke and fanfare, and then they will come in and tear him away. We must not be letting that happen!"

Jumba's tone was surprisingly authoritative, sure of itself. It had Stitch energized. He growled his agreement, hairs bristling, the puppy-dog eyes vanishing into the glare of resolution, commitment. Nobody would break up his _ohana_.

"Mhm, yes, well then…" Jumba's energy had dissipated with alarming rapidity. "While we wait, let us be telling more stories, yes?"

Stitch's growling petered out, muffled by a squeak of confusion. " _Yuuga_ tell story?"

"Indeed. If my creations can whip up good tales, then so can Jumba! Cannot be exceedingly difficult."

Stitch set aside Jumba's arrogance and took a moment to simply stare. Though boisterous and aggrandizing, Jumba was not one who seemed to enjoy forming real and coherent stories. He could be succinct, it was possible. But, it seemed Jumba took much greater joy when he was able to regale listeners with stories of his own self-declared fantastic life and impressive deeds. Stories that would intertwine when they shouldn't, losing themselves in a downward spiral, a lethal tailspin until the whole mess crashed and burned. They'd smolder lazily for a while, a campfire poorly tended, until Nani's shouts or Lilo's non sequitur would mercifully bring him to a halt, oftentimes with an accompanying huff.

"Why are you looking at me funny? I am great storyteller! Best of the Kweltikwans. Why, there was one time I told story at big contest. Lots of people there, big show, and I had just graduated from Evil Genius U. Top of class, of course — which is reminding me of time in one course, where Jacques and I put together this…."

And Stitch was out again. This time, he inched backward, taking great care to avoid Jumba's nostalgic gaze. Though he feared the monstrosity Jumba would potentially construct, Stitch did not dismiss Jumba's suggestion outright. A story from Jumba could prove to be an intriguing glimpse into the mind of his creator — if Stitch could pick through the many thorny twists and turns the story would inevitably take.

Reuben was far less enthusiastic. "Wha—nuh-uh, no _way_ cuz! He'll put this group to sleep faster'n Drowsy could ever manage!"

" _Habaja_. _Okiga_ —"

"No I will not think about it!" Reuben had descended from his perch on the stump, and was right in Stitch's face, goldenrod body quivering with an unmasked animus. "It won't be good. He'll just tell us all how wonderful he is, and how great he is for makin' his creations. Your fictional self will go on some smashin' spree, he'll cackle maniacally — _he_ will have fun, no doubt. The rest of us…." Reuben breathed heavily, winded from laying out his case.

Stitch was unmoved. " _Naga_. _Igi ba._ " He had been a quick study to the native languages of Earth — at least the most commonly employed ones on the island. But for him, Tantalog carried a certain weight to it. A different meaning manifested when he spoke it, more grounded and assured than his usual half-and-half slurry.

Reuben tried to fight back, but Stitch's inexorable will won out. With an excessively heavy sigh pointed at his cousin, Reuben hopped back onto the stump and called for the crowd's attention. "Alright… _Jumba_. Would you care ta tell us all a story?"

"…and then we broke the flask in his face, and they had to quarantine lab for full month! Ha—eh, what?" Roused from his tale, Jumba blinked as the whole of his creation stared back. The few groans from cousins who knew what was coming were drowned out by Jumba's gleeful exhortations. "Aha! Yes, yes! Will be good to be reliving old days. To be giving Six-Two-Six new story! To be getting us off this planet and back to real space! Eh, no offense, Earthlings."

In a few graceless but ebullient bounds, Jumba had reached the inner circle. A natural showmanship took hold of him. He bowed thrice, deep and parodic. The cousins waited patiently as their creator engaged in some odd warm-up ritual of gargling noises and mouth exercises. While Jumba hammed his way through a foreign syllabary, Stitch retook his seat by Angel, who tittered happily as she took her _boojiboo_ 's hand once more.

"Okay then…everyone!" boomed Jumba. A few frightened jumps circulated through the crowd. "Is time to be telling you grand story!"

 _Chapter 8_

 _Jumba's Story_

"Oh no…" groaned Pleakley. He held his head in two hands, his one eye squeezed shut. Stitch thought, a bit reluctantly, that Pleakley was perhaps giving voice to others' secret thoughts. Looking around the circle, though, Stitch saw the cousins were all packed in tightly, with the vast majority at least feigning alacrity to hear what story their creator would concoct.

"Yes, eh, grand story! Goes like…like this!"

 _Is dark and stormy night. The little people of the village are being fast asleep in their beds. Sound of bells ring to announce coming of midnight. Lamps are flickering in harsh wind._

 _They are catching shadow as it races around corner. An evil cackle carries across cobblestone streets. A monster, no doubt. Is ascending staircase, up to wooden door. Is knocking on door. A creak, and a couple dressed in their bedtime clothing answer._

" _Batookah. Meega from Evil Genius University, and would like to ask for your support!"_

 _The couple are screaming, but is being too later. Monster is already inside. Their lives are being over._

 _The Fundraiser has struck again!_

"Whoa-whoa-whoa!" shouted Pleakley, who must have recovered from his momentary migraine. "A fundraiser for your alma mater? _That's_ your story?"

"But he is being _evil_ fundraiser — whatever could be being worse! And who are you to be judging _me_ , wet noodle? When is your turn to make story, you do as you wish."

"Ohh…." Pleakley understood he would be soundly beaten no matter his response, and stomped his foot into the dirt accordingly. A few cousins chuckled, but most remained silent, waiting for more of Jumba's tale. Perhaps that was why his loud guffaw ended up being so surprising.

"Hah! Of course is not my story! Jumba actually thinks quite highly of fundraisers...no, will be needing something more _explosive_ to properly tell story of Six-Two-Six."

This revelation naturally had Stitch excited — he was, activated, in a manner of sorts. Something primal rose in his belly. He began lurching forward, almost ready to roll off the log. The low and long growl rumbled in his throat, drawing the instinctively fearful gazes of a few cousins' eyes. The fire flickered and roared as an unperturbed — or, more likely, clueless to his cousin's transformation — Leroy prodded the kindling. Stitch's sapphire spines rose, casting elongated and jagged shadows that flitted about as the open flame shimmered. Almost on his feet now, ready to pounce.

And then the energy ebbed. Drawn away by Angel's paw delicately positioned on the nape of his neck. Immediately, he plopped back down on the log. A daze settled in. It required a few moments to wear off, to kill the execution of his latent programming. That sudden termination felt…frustrating, in a way Stitch could not explain. Then Angel moved closer, and Stitch stopped caring.

Jumba's four eyes watched Stitch for a few moments longer. When his creation had settled back into his spot, and Angel had resumed her regular hold on her _boojiboo_ , he began again. "Okay then, family, be settling down now! Jumba will be gracing your aural canals with incredible tale of wonder and grandiosity!"

 _Science Log_

 _HX-1: 1985.13_

 _Is difficult to describe this work in words. Had Jumba not broken his camera, would be showing you what is happening — audio log will be needing to suffice, but what a shame. Years of dedicated effort is about to come to fruition. Big changes on horizon, not just for me — Doctor Jumba Jookiba, most evilest and handsomest scientist in galaxy! — but for all creatures who are living in this galaxy._

"See, that didn't take long…" Reuben grumbled, just loudly enough to reach Jumba's ear.

"Please, Six-Two-Five! Be being quiet! Please not to interrupt Science Log!"

Reuben huffed noisily, but did as asked.

 _Jumba has been spending incredible amount of resources on perfecting creations. Many trials have come and gone. Much evading of Federation imbeciles recently has been slowing me down. Tough to break down and set up lab every few galactic weeks. Get close to finishing, then they show up with their idiotic guns and stupid white suits and…._

 _Ahem. Anyway, have been able to buy several weeks' worth of time here on Plorgonar. No one is ever checking this place — who would want to be being here! But, Jumba has adapted, as expected of galaxy's greatest scientist. And I have nearly completed final step to finishing my greatest creation. Will report in with results of first battery of tests._

 _Science Log_

 _HX-2: 1985.19_

 _More tinkering is needed. This experiment is…is too small! When Jumba had plans to build this creation — my greatest creation — he was to be…not so small. And cute. And fluffy. Is real problem, I think._

 _Of course, Jumba will devise solution. Am not greatest scientist in galaxy for nothing!_

"How many times are you gonna say that…" growled a seated Reuben, perched on the lip of his stump. Stitch wondered if his goldenrod cousin had eaten during the last round of snacks. A constant supply of sandwiches usually kept Reuben from unleashing his renowned acerbic tongue to its fullest extent. It was a lesson Stitch knew Gantu had learned firsthand whenever his ship had been devoid of a fully stocked kitchen. Even now, Stitch could see the former captain reflexively twitch as Reuben opened his mouth.

"Again, is _my_ story, Six-Two-Five. Will tell it exactly as it should be being told, yes?"

"I…rrrr…" Reuben rolled onto his back and flopped indolently across the stump. Perhaps Stitch was mistaken in thinking that Reuben had been a proud member of Lilo's Sandwich Brigade — though he was obviously the most qualified to serve on it, and doubtlessly would have done so with great distinction. Stitch somehow nabbed Lilo's attention away from a fascinating shrub on the tree line, and silently directed her to engage the Brigade. Hand motions were expertly exchanged between several experiments, and soon, Clyde was looming over Reuben with a platter of the finest BLTs the overworked kitchen could create. The scent of crispy bacon proved irresistible. Reuben would not win the pouting fight, and so consoled himself with three full sandwiches he wolfed down with little thought.

"Well, now that experiments are being properly fed, I think I will be continuing," Jumba hiked up his pants, which Stitch only now noticed were lacking a belt. Something half-remembered about its use in an experiment involving koa and a sandpiper on Jumba's ship floated through his furry blue head. For the moment, though, Stitch stashed the concern for Jumba's belt, and listened to the story unfold.

 _Science Log_

 _HX-3: 1985.22_

… _it is gone. Jumba was too good at solving this problem, and Greatest Creation is gone. Had plan to make it taller, less of cuteness and fluffiness. But Jumba miscalculated molecular energization function. Should have put another zero in cuteness coefficient…should not have pawned calculator to wet-noodle-looking creature in exchange for evil belt buckle. Is not even that evil! Jumba has two just like it already…._

 _Anyway, lab is totally destroyed. Creature grew too quickly. Containment field far too small for creation. One punch, and glass was being shattered everywhere. Real mess. It was keeping growing, too. It was five Jumbas tall, then ten, then twenty, then…creature punched through solid rock wall, and stormed off toward nearest population center — fortunately, that part of programming was retained, nice work Jumba, heh._

 _Plorgonarians in trouble, that is being sure. But more importantly, Jumba is not ready to record test of Greatest Creation destroying city yet. Still waiting on calibrations of smashometer to be completed, this what I get for outsourcing testing job, pah!_

 _Jumba was not made for the running, but I must be catching up to Greatest Creation and capturing every detail I can. Think it best to be taking this audio logging device with me, record for posterity sake. Now then, on to, eh, Bugopolis, and be discovering what he is unleashing on unsuspecting Plorgonarians—_

"Hey…that's _my_ city!" Lilo extracted herself from whatever thought coursed through her head and then shouted at the portly storyteller. "And it's not on _Plorgonar_ , Jumba!"

"The girl is most certainly right!" Pleakley intoned pedantically. "Furthermore, the smashometer is not a real experimental instrument."

"Eh…yes, well, smashometer is newest Jumba invention. Still, eh, tinkering with it in ship. Will show you soon, certainly. And Bugopolis could be being anywhere. Perhaps One-Two-Eight paid Plorgonar a visit, yes?"

From somewhere near the fire, Bugby buzzed his translucent wings. Stitch instinctively threw his arms over his face, remembering his own stint as a bug some time ago under the power of Bugby's transformative abilities. Angel laughed at her _boojiboo_ 's reaction, and forced his arms back to his sides. Her giggle was soft and soothing, and it made the pink coils of fur bob up and down and catch little bits of light from the campfire. Stitch soon forgot about his worry.

"Yes, and with One-Two-Eight turning people into harmless insects, is fitting perfectly with Plorgonar. They are already fairly harmless, hah!"

Pleakley did not care for Jumba's denigration of the Plorgonarian species, and seemed ready to speak up until Gantu's grumble swelled. "Ugh, get _on_ with it already." Gantu's impatience was actually indicative of the crowd's collective sentiment, anxious to continue onward and leave the particular details of Jumba's story to be filled in by their imaginations.

"Ach, very well then. Cannot _believe_ I am listening to Gantu…." Jumba muttered into a second of silence before resuming.

 _Science Log_

 _HX-4: 1985.22 sub 3_

" _I…huh…hoo…must be needing more running in exercise regimen…if exercise regimen existed. Okay then, let us, eh, be seeing where Greatest Creation is._

 _I have come across a cliff face that is overlooking Bugopolis. Already can hear panicked screaming. Is music to ears, really, being under normal evil circumstances. But Greatest Creation, he is not being ready! Is too soon, Jumba is certain._

 _I will crawl on belly — oh, ground is softer than expected…no wait, is my stomach. Must really cut back on those energy bars from shady dealer on Turo. Nevertheless, Jumba has crawled to edge of cliff, and is now peering over at…at…._

 _Oh…wow, is…breathtaking. Is simply…beauty. Perfection. Ah, he is looking exactly as before, blue with the spines and six limbs and whatnot. But now, he is…he is being huge! And destructive programming, is taken hold remarkably well! Ach, that snarl he is giving before eating whole apartment complex, is brilliant!_

 _And the roar! Such fury. Such world-ending fury. Oh, Jumba is…so…what is this emotion? Is warm in this belly of mine. Tingles a bit, too. Hmm, will need to investigate at lab after this excursion is through._

 _And Greatest Creation is on move! He is stomping army vehicles into dust. Pah! Puny soldiers, running from next step in galactic evolution. They are reminding me of time when soldiers chased me after my escape. Well, second escape — Jumba does not talk of first time. Second escape great success, and I laughed as they shook their guns at me and yelled while I was piloting my stolen star freighter out of prison dock. They kept Jumba locked up for mad science. Hah! I decided then and there, on way out of star system, I would show them what real mad science would be looking like. And it is blue and fluffy and huge and ready to annihilate useless galaxy!_

 _Another city block is succumbing to his rampage! How wonderful to see. He is taking such joy in his work. Almost seems like…yes, is smile on his face. Those teeth — gah, the genetic material of that donor creature had been nearly impossible to be obtaining. Jumba nearly lost left arm in process. But, completely worth it, and Jumba can see now that—_

 _Wait…ground is shaking funny. Something…something big is approaching. Hold on, Jumba must shift. Whatever big stomping thing is, is obscuring sun. Thing is…eh, bathed in shadow, I cannot…hurgh…ooo, may have pulled something in leg. Oh, should seriously be considering exercise now…or, maybe tomorrow. Yes, that is being most appropriate._

 _Ah, sun is rising a bit, other creature is walking, stomping on building…building is crumbling! Ach, is giving Greatest Creation run for his money! Oh, is no good…knew he was not being ready…really wishing smashometer was in hand now. Would be perfect opportunity to field test with two giant creatures smashing up this city._

 _Other creature is in light and…wait, is not creature. No, is…shiny, and metallic…no, it cannot be…thought Federation had been destroying this…why on Plorgonar…no, no Greatest Creation, stay back! Please not to be going near it, is not safe! Wait! Ach, blasted creature cannot hear me! Must be getting closer, will roll up to edge and see if there is easy way down to…city…hmm, what is that noise?_

With great gusto, Jumba then acted out a landslide. Massive jowls rumbled as the rocks rolled down the slope into Bugopolis. Jumba's arms flailed in the air, which when touched by the flickering light of the campfire, was multiplied into dozens of shadowy arm figures dancing on the dirt. The crashing and cracking noises, accomplished in large part by breaking twigs across his leg, had Jumba landing at the piedmont, terribly close to his Greatest Creation, which was about to do battle with some shiny metallic monstrosity. Stitch could hardly wait.

 _Science Log_

 _HX-5: 1985.22 sub 6_

… _my, oh, every inch of Jumba is hurting. What a long tumble. Cliff must be, ah, thirty, no forty Jumbas high! Long way to be falling. Think I will be trying to stand and—ach! Will be sitting for moment._

 _Perhaps is for best. Greatest Creation knows I am here to be supporting him. But, in his heightened state, is most likely dangerous for me to be getting too much closer. Probably not safe to be sitting here in foothill, watching as city is falling apart. Well…not safe, maybe, but still…fun? Is that what Jumba is feeling? No, Jumba has felt fun before…more bouncy and bubbly._

 _Wait, Greatest Creation! Why are you being so close to the metal thing? Are you not knowing what it is? Actually…no, you would not be knowing. I had yet to be loading that program into your brain. Apologies, Greatest Creation, for what is about to be happening next._

 _This creature, made of metal, hails from darkest corner of galaxy. Federation had said they had been destroying it, but Jumba see that is bald-faced lie. No surprise there — Federation nincompoops built this creature. Shaped it to be toughest of their armies. But, ended up being great disappointment. Of course, I am describing to you…_

 _Mecha-Pleakley!_

"Okay, _that_ is where I draw the line!" Regular Pleakley yelled from the edge of the inner circle. At some point, he had scooted forward, perhaps eager to learn the fate of his home planet in Jumba's story. Now, he stomped furiously in the dirt, sending up a dust cloud with each squelchy plop of his tentacles. "I do _not_ want to be a robot in your story!"

"Aw, c'mon Pleakley, a giant robot and a huge monster about to do battle? That's _awesome_!" Bonnie added her opinion into a growing chorus of cousins, who were at that very moment picturing the slender one-eyed noodle man as a massive, city-destroying mechanical marvel. "Don't you be ruining this for us, Pleakley!"

"Yeah! I—hey, hold on a sec." Reuben held up a paw and stroked his chin. The world fell shockingly silent as he pondered. "Wouldn't it be really cool if we could see this battle?"

"Well _duh_ ," Bonnie helpfully replied. "But how're we gonna do that?"

"Easy. Let's get Pleakley and our dear blue cousin ta reenact it for us. Right here by this fire!"

Both Stitch and Pleakley reacted immediately, but as polar opposites. Something about Jumba's story had powered up Stitch, and he could barely restrain whatever energy was building inside. Angel had noticed, and had seemingly been doing her level best to keep that energy at bay, but to no real effect. A primal urge was manifesting, and as Stitch popped up from the log, she let out a long and breathy sigh, and reclined as Stitch walked to the center of the circle.

Fire to his back, he smiled at Pleakley, who had yet to shake off the sheer terror of Bonnie's suggestion. "But I…I don't wanna fight…just wanted to listen…ohhh."

"Don't worry, it's not like yer _really_ fighting," Reuben worked to reassure a shaking noodle. "Just listen ta Jumba's story, and act out whatever he says."

"B-b-b-but I…."

"Hang on, I know, let's get ya a coach. Someone who can help out…hey," Reuben shouted at the nearest cousin, "go find Kixx and get 'im up here, yeah?"

"Oh, that's not going to help at all…" Pleakley whined as the word spread through the circle. In a few flickers of the campfire's flame, Kixx bumbled up to the inner circle. He looked a little like Stitch, if Stitch had gone to the weight deck at the gym and never returned. Stitch occasionally wondered if Angel liked the look of Kixx, and if Stitch should indeed bulk up. Though she constantly affirmed that his little paunch was cute, and that she liked him exactly as he was, Stitch always felt a little uneasy when he stood near the bodybuilder physique of this particular cousin.

The broad-chested Kixx slapped Pleakley on the back with a massive forearm, which almost took the noodle to the ground. Fortunately, like any good coach, Kixx helped Pleakley back to his feet and showed off a few trademark kickboxing moves, his humongous purple hands whooshing as they tore through the air in haymakers, uppercuts, and jabs.

"Ah, Six-Oh-One, excellent choice for our thin, pale friend. This is most excellent idea, and will be doing my best to lay out moves for you," Jumba reassured both the fighters and the crowd. "Alright then, let us be rumbling!"

 _Science Log_

 _HX-6: 1985.22 sub 6.5_

 _And they are having at it! Come on now, Greatest Creation, be doing your thing! Okay, Mecha-Pleakley is opening with right hook. Time to dodge, Greatest Creation!_

With obvious trepidation, Pleakley took three steps forward and swung his limply balled fist at Stitch. Stitch countered by ducking at the proper moment, which lasted entirely too long.

 _Mecha-Pleakley missed, and is wide open! Greatest Creation springs up and is ramming into that metal chest!_

Stitch didn't mean to hit so hard, but the story really was affecting him physiologically. It was a concern he would need to air with Jumba in private. For now, though, he stared at Pleakley, who was rolling on the ground, clutching his abdomen.

Kixx bent down and whispered some form of encouragement in the noodle's ear. The one eye had been shut tight, but as the coach amped up his trainee, the eye slowly opened. Wobblingly, Pleakley rose on his tentacles and retook his spot in the arena.

Stitch looked on with great worry. Though a bit grating now and again, Pleakley was still a member of his _ohana_. Stitch certainly had no desire to hurt him, despite the excitement of Jumba's tale coursing through his veins and injecting itself into every fiber of his being. He would really need to talk to Jumba about it.

For now, he gave the signal, and Jumba continued.

 _Ach! They were crashing through building after building, now both on ground. Greatest Creation stands tall, is…gloating, Jumba thinks. But, wait, Mecha-Pleakley is not done! Move, Greatest Creation! Before…oh, is too late._

 _Mecha-Pleakley has wrapped tentacles around Greatest Creation's legs. Oh no, Greatest Creation is not able to be moving! Here comes uppercut, straight to chin!_

Pleakley did as instructed, though he lacked the musculature necessary to truly pin Stitch. But the experiment made a show, faking a struggle while his cousins shouted at him to break out. The uppercut did come — Stitch caught Kixx pantomiming the move out of the corner of his eye — a weak hit that sent Stitch flailing to the ground.

 _Greatest Creation! Be getting up! Hurry, before Mecha-Pleakley makes next move! Ach, more buildings destroyed, but wait, he is grabbing that floor of offices, and…tosses it at Mecha-Pleakley. Is exploding in cloud of drywall!_

A ball of wet sand was an adequate substitute. Stitch made sure not to get any in Pleakley's eye, again limiting the pain he wished to dole out. Pleakley appeared to be beginning to understand how to play to the audience, and as the sand slapped against his chest, he let out an overacted groan and went to the ground.

 _Surely that cannot be being enough for Mecha-Pleakley. Was feared by whole galaxy…well, perhaps feared is not being right word, more like mildly annoyed, yes, but still…cannot be finished. But Greatest Creation is on top of Mecha-Pleakley. Is pummeling the metal chest. Sparks flying as claws hit steel!_

Another signal, and Sparky zipped up to the arena. As Stitch stood over Pleakley, who was barely hiding his smile underneath the grimace of pretend combat, Sparky tossed a few little bolts across the scene. Sparks were indeed flying as Stitch's punches came within two inches of smacking into Pleakley's chest.

 _One after another. Such brutality, is wonderful! Greatest Creation going to be finishing off Mecha-Pleakley! Is wrapping up Mecha-Pleakley's big weird metal head, trapped in headlock, pulling him up to tips of tentacles—and there is suplex! Slamming Mecha-Pleakley into city stadium! Unbelievable!_

Both Stitch and Pleakley were frozen in confusion. Stitch had no desire to suplex Pleakley — and to be completely candid, Stitch wasn't ever sure how to execute a suplex. Instead, they both tacitly agreed to flop around on the ground for a bit, with Pleakley eventually ending up defeated and Stitch rising to his feet.

 _And Mecha-Pleakley is being done! Busted and broken, will not be bothering Greatest Creation again! Oh, what marvelous sight! Truly a great day for Jumba Jookiba, galaxy's greatest evil genius! Now I know what warm feeling is! Is being pride! Pride in Greatest Creation…but also pride in Jumba for my abilities! My evil genius is finally realized! Jumba has conquered this little city, and will now be conquering galaxy! With Greatest Creation, nothing will be standing in way of total domination! All will bow before Jumba!_

"…uh, Jumba? Is this still part of the story?" Pleakley harshly whispered from his spot on the ground, still playing the role of dead mechanical monstrosity. The experiments, the whole of Jumba's creation, looked on and probably wondered the same.

"Eh, perhaps is good time to be ending story, yes?"

"Works for me!" Pleakley was suddenly shades happier, and leapt up with renewed vigor. Stitch and his cousins applauded the noodle's performance. Pleakley looked bashful as he melded back into the large agglomeration surrounding the battle arena. "Oh, it was nothing, _really_ , it was nothing…" he trailed off as he retreated.

"Y'know, Pleakley isn't such a bad actor. Might have a shot on stage someday. Now, someday might be the moment before the heat death of the universe, but hey, still someday," Heckler offered.

"Yeah, he's about as good an actor as Jumba is a storyteller!" From his stump, Reuben hollered loudly enough for the crowd to hear.

"Ach—and what is that supposed to be meaning?"

"Hey, take it easy. Only meanin' that ya came up with an...alright story, I guess…but just, y'know, don't quit yer day job, yeah?"

While not quite the praise that Jumba was perhaps expecting, he nevertheless wore a pleased grin as Reuben led the congratulatory remarks that bubbled out of the group. One of the most vociferous was Leroy. He had been quietly tending to the fire, but now seemed almost as excited as Stitch had been by the story. Flecks of sapphire were popping up in crimson fur as Leroy replayed his favorite scene, while also demonstrating a proper suplex on an unsuspecting log. A couple of the splinters landed in the fire, which crackled as it accepted the offering. Though he did not take to the more violent rendering of his battle, Stitch did make a mental note of the moves he would need to go and practice in the morning.

For now, Stitch resumed his place next to Angel. She had worn a certain look during the entire debacle. At first, Stitch thought it to be concern, but her glare as he nestled into their log now had him thinking otherwise. It wasn't anything on the spectrum of anger — Stitch knew when he was in trouble, he had seen that particular look plenty of times. No, it was more as if she were…transfixed. Absorbed in the battle unfolding before her eyes. Stitch had expected the lecture, the condemnation for hopping up from his log and giving in to violence, even if it was only for show. But instead, it seemed to Stitch that Angel had actually _enjoyed_ the display.

His thoughts were reified after he had completed his final adjustments back into his seat. She drew herself closer to him. The crook of her arm squeezed tightly around one of Stitch's biceps, which was still engaged, toughened by his portrayal of a giant genetic abomination. Another of her arms went around the paunch she said she found so cute. Her glare softened, and her eyes were half-open, and became hazy. She flicked his ear, and whispered into it — the words themselves weren't important. The mere act sent a pleasant shiver racing down Stitch's spine. The tense muscles throughout his body suddenly relaxed in unison. He sighed, and she giggled, breathy and alluring. He turned and stared into those hazy eyes, they drew even closer together, and….

"Alright ya lovebirds, come back ta Earth!" Reuben spoiled the moment. Angel harrumphed, and eased her grip. Stitch did everything in his power to convince her not to do so, but the damage had been done. Though they still sat close together, the air around the log changed. Stitch made a mental note to dish out some payback to Reuben in the morning.

"Speaking of lovebirds, hey Nani, where'd David go?" Lilo had left the circle to confront her older sister, who had returned from wherever it was she had been — Stitch hadn't paid very close attention to her plans or to the occasions when she up and disappeared. Nani's cheeks reddened almost imperceptibly.

"I just dropped him off at the pier. He's heading out of town."

"Oh really? And where is that?"

Nani sighed. "He's off _chasing his dream_ , surfing in some ridiculous competition on the Big Island. _Oi_ , that man, sometimes I wonder…."

"Wonder if he just got tired of chasing after you?"

Nani gasped as Lilo laughed. "Wha—why you little!" Nani was now running after her sister, who kept repeating lines about David, which only made Nani run faster. The whole gaggle of cousins was steering clear but nonetheless joining in Lilo's laughter. Even Nani would let a giggle slip out between loud breaths. Stitch listened to Angel titter, still alluringly so.

Lilo hid behind a little clusters of cousins, far enough away from the campfire to take advantage of beneficial shadows. Nani shoved a few experiments out of the way, but was always a step behind her younger and nimbler sister.

"You'll never catch me, Nani!"

" _Oi_ Lilo! Gr, I can't see. Oh, if I had a big bright flashlight—"

And then the sky was white. Everyone yelped as the light burned. Burned far more brightly than the oranges and reds of the campfire. Experiments littered the ground, hiding their eyes, so accustomed to the Kaua'i dark. Through painful squinting, Stitch applied some filters, and was able to rise up and peer around.

The werewolf ninjas were nowhere to be found. The light did not originate from the trees, but rather, above them. All around them. Naturally, Stitch followed this thought to its conclusion, and was soon staring straight upward.

He could sense Leroy standing next to him. Something beyond sight told him that. Stitch could also sense the quivering that had taken hold of Leroy's body. A fear he never believed Leroy could experience. The sound was barely audible above a wind now rising, rushing up to almost gale force. Leroy's gravelly voice grumbled, tinged with the onset of true panic. "They are here."

#


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N - Sorry this took so long to post - appreciate your patience! Life has been super busy recently, so I haven't had the time I'd like to work on this story. But, another chapter is done - hope you enjoy! Best, Euphonemes_**

* * *

 _The Fire of Futures Past_

Leroy kept shaking as the light narrowed. The blaze that filled the sky resolved into four perfectly white circles. They hovered atop the fire for a minute, and the rush of downdrafts from what Stitch deduced to be rocket engines had his campfire gasping for air.

A sudden bolt of clarity struck Leroy. The suffering of the flame that had warmed his cousins' hearts had instilled purpose once more in his crimson body. His limbs churned as he flipped around and flew back to the campfire, wrapping hands around basic implements and prodding the flames awake. The whole motion caught Stitch by surprise, and he could only stand back and watch, dumbfounded, as the purportedly evil Experiment brought the faintest of smiles to the fearful faces of the cousins closest to the pit.

Four bright lights moved away, dimmed as they settled behind the tree line. Stitch nabbed a few muttered curses and barked orders carried on the wind from the werewolf ninjas, who were apparently still maintaining their perimeter. The ninjas' leader had made it abundantly known they had been expecting the appearance of the vessel, but Stitch wondered if the shock of actually seeing it had taken hold of the uninitiated humans. After all, Stitch and his cousins were the most alien things these soldiers had yet observed.

Angel was worried. Stitch could tell as he hopped back to the log and wrapped his arms around her quivering form. Her interactions with the United Galactic Federation — like many of those shared by their other cousins — had typically gone unwell. Stitch was far and away the exception to the rule in this regard. The glinting gold medal pinned into the headboard of his perfectly-sized bed, ostensibly an award for valor in service to the Federation, spoke to that effect.

Those in service to the Federation marched up the hill. A chain of soldiers, all clad in the same white armor, closed in on the mass of cousins, whose huddle tightened as a reaction to the invaders' approach. The white armor covered bulky frames, meaty tails, and square snouts, all leveled at the campfire crew. A few of the ornerier cousins toward the edge of the circle peacocked, looking for a fight. Despite their thicker appearances, the soldiers moved lithely, subduing any resistance. Not cruelly, though — more to keep everyone safe, Stitch thought. But he wondered how many of his cousins would reach a different conclusion.

Eventually, the circle did quiet down. Stitch checked on Leroy during the minute it took for silence to fall. The campfire bordered on a raging inferno. Nervous hands had tossed on too-large logs, and Stitch's nose waggled at the hint of some unknown accelerant. The shaking had only grown worse, manifesting in interminable jitters in crimson fingers. A blue paw came to rest on Leroy's shoulder.

" _Oketaka_ , cousin."

Leroy did not need to say anything. His speechlessness conferred enough. Stitch's attuned sense of sight noticed the barest of dips in the shaking. It brought a small and carefully controlled smile to his face.

The werewolf ninjas had been plenty easy to fool. It came with the territory of novelty — none of those humans were accustomed to interacting with the alien denizens of this very much earthbound island. To them, all of the _ohana_ appeared as one, minor aesthetic variations aside. Given enough time and support, they would have learned, and they would have more easily picked out Leroy from his earlier hiding spot.

But the Federation — they were a different story. Stitch knew there would be no benefit in trying to bury Leroy in the dense jungle brush or stick him behind Reuben's stump. The Federation soldiers were too well versed in alien affairs, too familiar with the cousins to trick through such simple means. Stitch loathed surrendering this way. Something deep within his programmed mind denied the soundness, or even the inevitability, of this plan. A conscious application of will overrode his concerns, but still, Stitch shuddered as the white-garbed soldiers carved a path through the circle of cousins and halted eight feet from the fire.

A couple of the guards whispered in Tantalog. Something about the area being secured, Stitch gathered from the muffled syllables. His guess was close, he figured, as the chain of guards broke in two and then lined up in formation. A militaristic red carpet for whomever still remained on the vessel that had landed. Stitch had a strong notion of who exactly that was.

He thought she would be far too consumed by other activities of galactic importance to pay attention to what was transpiring here by his campfire. And Stitch believed further that none of this warranted a personal visit. Certainly, Leroy's escape would have been newsworthy — probably not front page, but maybe somewhere deeper, the crime beat perhaps. But she had capable staff to whom she could have delegated a simple retrieval operation.

It was this fact that sank in Stitch's stomach as he watched the Grand Councilwoman of the United Galactic Federation march down the aisle, bordered by a platoon of white-garbed soldiers. Her deep azure skin was wrinkled with purpose, as incredibly dark eyes glared down the walkway. Rail-thin, but her body was elegant, and she almost flowed as she moved. Normally, Stitch would be overjoyed to see her. But her presence here denoted something of monumental stature — whether it would be good or bad remained to be seen.

Earth's finest representative wormed through the circle of cousins, past the line of guards, and popped out about ten steps ahead of Stitch. Lilo had done such an excellent job of liaising with the Federation on behalf of humanity, and it was obvious the Grand Councilwoman had taken a special shine to the plucky Earth girl. Stitch's best friend stood tall as the narrow but nonetheless imposing figure of the Federation's leader closed in.

In as diplomatic a tone as she could muster, Lilo rang out with, "Hey Grand Councilwoman! Good to see you again!" She waved furiously, about ready to hop around in excitement. Stitch thought that, were he in such a position, he would have exercised a little more reservation. But then, he wasn't in charge of representing Earth. Most likely an exceedingly wise decision.

Lilo received only a slight nod from the Grand Councilwoman. Maybe a smile, too, if one turned their head just right. The black-clad alien poured past Earth's representative. Not out of spite, Stitch guessed, but rather conviction. She was here to fulfill a purpose, and as she stopped and stooped down to meet Stitch's and Leroy's eyes, the heat of that purpose overtook the massive flames licking the tips of Stitch's back spines.

"Hello, Experiment Six-Two-Six. It's good to see you again," a self-assured contralto warmly greeted him. Stitch thought she always sounded tired, an exhaustion almost palpable in how she conducted herself. Running a galaxy must take its toll, and she was paying a hefty fee to retain her position. The wrinkles were much more plentiful upon closer inspection, though Angel had imparted enough wisdom to her _boojiboo_ for him to know never to say that aloud.

"Ah," her attention shifted with her obsidian eyes. "Experiment Six-Two-Nine. There you are." Like a parent reproving her child. Stitch was embarrassed for Leroy, who only managed a sad and pitiful squeak. "I hope you've enjoyed your little escapade, Six-Two-Nine," she continued, unmoved by Leroy's really quite terrible attempt at puppy-dog eyes. "But it's time now to bring you back to where you belong."

"W-wait!" Lilo had pivoted and then snagged a ruffle in the Grand Councilwoman's black formal dress. The azure alien took another moment to study Leroy, then swiveled around. "Look, uh ma'am, I know Leroy's been…bad before. But he's been really great here. Honest! Look at that fire he, um…made…."

All eyes went to the conflagration rioting in its sand pit. Licks of flame escaped their confines, and had set fire to the edge of Bonnie's log. She voiced her displeasure with a healthy bout of Tantalog curses, and worked to tamp it out with her foot. Several other cousins warily stepped back from the fire. From the very far edge of the circle, Stitch could just make out Slushy bemoaning the flames' intensity. He wasn't wrong.

Leroy kicked the dirt sheepishly as the uncontrolled fire ignited the Grand Councilwoman's eyes. Lilo stuttered through a few starts, but the alien brushed the Earth girl aside and descended upon Leroy. "It is time to be going, Six-Two-Nine!" The columns of guards caved inward, a wave of white spilling across the ochre earth toward their crimson target.

A little blue rock stood in their way. And the onrush bent to his will, his immovable form keeping the swarm of greedy hands from snatching away his cowering cousin. Her thin azure fingers collided ever so softly against Stitch's chest before tumbling back toward their perplexed owner.

"Six-Two-Six, do _not_ impede our operation, or you will—"

" _Naga_. No operation. Leroy stay."

Stitch did not intend for his tone to be as direct or intransigent as it was. He really did admire the Grand Councilwoman. It had taken time, but she had seen beyond Stitch's programming. Past the glass cage and orange prison jumpsuit. He had served the Federation faithfully these past few years, and there had grown an eminently deep and mutual respect between the Federation's stalwart leader and the _de facto_ head of a rather special _ohana_. And as Stitch looked back to a Leroy about to fall apart from fear, he thought of the glass cage and orange prison jumpsuit. He knew she did, too.

The two of them stared in silence. Alone, representing their people, their hopes for a better future. Their tension had quelled the usual murmurs of the circle. Stitch had wanted a quiet evening — and as he got one, for even the briefest of moments, he realized how terrible the quiet was.

Fortunately, another cousin hated silence even more than Stitch did. He must have swung around the fire while Stitch had been glaring into the obsidian orbs of the Federation's leader. Though his cousin had a penchant for stirring up trouble, Reuben's gift with words could also defuse many of the situations he himself created. Reuben's goldenrod body stepped in between Stitch and the Grand Councilwoman, and he diverted the almost visible torrent of tension with two outstretched hands.

"Okay then, let's everybody take a breath, yeah? Maybe a snack, too? Hey Lilo, how's about we give these goon— ahem, _gentlemen_ in the white here some sandwiches? Been a long trip, so I'll bet they're hungry."

Lilo caught on quickly and soon had reassembled a good portion of her Snack Brigade. Stitch picked up some hastily whispered Tantalog among the Federation guards, which amounted to phrases like "Can't believe we never stopped once" and "I _really_ had to go, but she _wouldn't_ pull over." Opaque visors flipped open to reveal saurian critters salivating over the trays of sandwiches being offered. The Grand Councilwoman watched helplessly as her guards dropped their guns and grabbed some tasty morsels. Lilo gave Stitch and Reuben a wink, and they both beamed.

The Federation's leader sighed noisily. "I suppose I should have _fed_ them all before we left…though, that one there on the dark bread, it does look…." Lilo swiveled and raised her tray, replete with ham-on-pumpernickel. The Grand Councilwoman daintily extricated one especially delectable-looking sandwich and munched on a corner of it. "Mhm, tastes as good as it looks…" she managed through filled cheeks.

The crowd murmured softly among themselves as the Federation's forces enjoyed their treats. Stitch peeked back at Leroy. His crimson cousin still appeared terribly bothered by the whole affair, and was nervously picking at his claws. And yet, a small smile was dawning on his face, brightening as the guards went for a second round of snacks.

"Hmm, yes, fine treats you have here, Six-Two-Six," the Grand Councilwoman commended. Her guards mumbled pleased accordance. "But really, we should be taking Le— what is _that_ one?" she effused as a six-layer bologna sandwich passed under her nose. In a heartbeat, the comestible was in her elegant hand. "Perhaps we can wait for just a little while…." The decree elicited cheers from the bastion of white-clad diners.

"Yay!" shouted Lilo, who then dropped her tray and started tugging again on the alien's black garb. "C'mon, come sit by the fire! We're telling stories about Stitch!"

The Grand Councilwoman blinked a few times as she let Lilo guide her to a log near the fire, which had decidedly calmed down during the previous exchange. "Stories? About what?"

"Oh, anything! We're thinking on what would've happened had Stitch not come to Earth. There've been good stories so far!"

While Lilo shepherded the Grand Councilwoman, Stitch did a quick check of the circle. A few cousins had wandered off somewhere during the quieter time, no doubt eager to secure additional foodstuffs — or perhaps to mend wounded pride after being subdued briefly by Federation forces. Jumba and Pleakley were engaged in some shouting match closer to the tree line. Stitch ached to hear what they were saying, but even his finely-tuned ears couldn't snatch the words from the humid air. Nani and Cobra were nearer to Stitch, and were talking in hushed tones.

Their two-person huddle appeared to be concluding, resolving whatever the subject had been. Nani flashed Cobra a tiny smirk before breaking into a jog and heading back into the house. Cobra pivoted and made his way toward the Grand Councilwoman, alacrity evident in his steps, much jauntier than typically expected from the august agent. Naturally, this made Stitch unbearably curious.

One notable absentee from the circle, Stitch suddenly realized, was the former captain of the Federation Armada. At some point in the squabble, Gantu must have slipped out of the group and gone off to do something. Stitch hopped a few times to try to gain a better view of the crowd — after all, a creature of Gantu's size would have great difficulty staying hidden for long in this environment — but Gantu proved elusive. With a shrug, Stitch resigned the perfunctory search, and returned to the inner circle and his _boojiboo_.

Reuben had slid himself into the conversation between Lilo and the Grand Councilwoman. Once Stitch nestled into his usual pose with Angel, he was able to capture a few pieces of rallying support for Leroy. "I'm tellin' ya, ma'am, he's a gifted storyteller. And I'm surprised that I'm payin' the guy such a high compliment!" Reuben built a rather persuasive argument, a sales pitch that would make Slick envious. Little by little, Stitch thought, Reuben would break her down.

Sure enough, the goldenrod cousin moved from pure pitch to a demo. "Hey, y'know what? How's about you tell a story ma'am? I think that'll really show ya what we've been up to!"

 _Chapter 9_

 _The Grand Councilwoman's Story_

The Grand Councilwoman looked aghast. Her cerulean irises darted around their obsidian houses, doing their level best to find an exit. "Me? But…but I don't know any stories…oh, I could use another one of those scrumptious little bites right now…" she muttered into silence, an uncharacteristic loss of her commanding presence. Stitch briefly considered setting a limit on sandwich consumption for the Federation's leader, but he felt that to be a bit too hypocritical given his own penchant for devouring everything in sight.

Somehow, she had procured another snack, this one a horrendously tasty combination of prosciutto, bacon, and three types of cheese. Each bite evoked a sweet note of epicurean satisfaction from the Grand Councilwoman. She was so lost in the experience that Reuben needed to prod her five times about her responsibility to build a story.

Each time, she would rebuff his call before continuing her gastronomic adventure. "Oh no, certainly not me. I've no stomach for crafting such tales…." She had always been one for the rules, Stitch recalled. Ensuring the proper order of things across the galaxy required an iron will — and left little room for imagination, it seemed.

Finally, Reuben was forced to acquiesce to her obstinacy. "Heh, funny, we're usually climbin' over one another ta tell the next tale, but alright, we'll come back to ya. So, uh …not really sure what ta do now…."

 _Chapter 9_

 _?_

The whispers of confused cousins swelled with impressive speed and strength. Soon, the commotion was at full boil, with cousins clamoring to take the lead. The Federation guards, who had been lulled into a sandwich-induced stupor, began to rouse and rearm themselves. Should no one act appropriately, a riot would likely break out.

Stitch searched for the one who could bring order to chaos. Cobra had taken up position about five feet back from the Grand Councilwoman. Highly trained eyes had never left her figure, and as Stitch left his log, squirmed past a few cousins, and met up with the agent, those eyes remained locked onto their target. Without hesitation, Cobra greeted Stitch with, "You want me to tell one, don't you?"

If Stitch was to be completely honest, then he would have answered, "No." Stitch liked Cobra, it was certainly nothing personal. The man had been extraordinarily supportive of the _ohana_ as they gained their bearings in a new world. And Stitch was sure Cobra possessed some latent creative streak hidden away behind his ubiquitous sunglasses, which were currently perched atop his bald head that glistened as the flames flickered.

Yet, Cobra's position required a certain unavoidable terseness in all his communications. He was not one prone to embellishment or panache. While the lack of flair could be useful in his functional duties as a government operative, it would not contribute to any ability as a competent storyteller. Stitch hoped that Cobra would prove him wrong — though Stitch wouldn't have bet any cash on that being the case. Instead, Stitch simply needed someone to tell something to quell the crowd and resolve the more pressing issue at hand.

With a grumble, Cobra stepped forward, bringing more of his large frame into the warm firelight. When he crossed that threshold, the cousins took note, generating a wave of quiet that propagated languidly through the noisy circle. As the _ohana_ began ceasing their babbling, the Grand Councilwoman's continued apologies for whiffing on the story rose up. "I think it best if someone were able to help me with a… an _example_ of a story, something I can learn from…."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance, ma'am." Cobra's rumbling bass was a cannonball, and the wave of quiet rocketed outward. All the heads in the circle turned to the agent.

"Whu— _you_? C'mon Cobra, surely yer kiddin'?" Reuben gave voice to the thoughts of many other cousins. Though Stitch had applied the pressure to initiate Cobra's interest, even he was taken slightly aback by Cobra's willingness to engage. Stitch had expected a more protracted battle.

"Oh, that'd be splendid! Please, sit down here," the Grand Councilwoman encouraged as she patted a bare spot on the log. Cobra obliged, and before anyone could say anything else, he plunged headfirst into his tale.

 _Chapter 9_

 _Cobra's Story_

" _Hunter. Hound here. Hunter…Hunter, come in!"_

 _Hunter shook himself from his stupor. On the hill, scope in his hands. He was searching for someone. His target to extract. Or terminate. They had not been clear on that point._

 _On his belt. The radio blared again. "Hunter, this is being Hound. Please to be responding!"_

 _They had made Jumba his handler. Only seemed right. Jumba was good to him. They had released Jumba from prison once Six-Two-Six agreed to Their terms. How generous._

 _Six-Two-Six clicked on the transmitter. "Ih. Hunter read."_

" _Ach, finally! Hunter, please to be advised. Target is being on move. Can you be confirming visually?"_

 _Right. Their target. Hunter hunkered down on the hilltop. They had not given him a weapon — not enough trust. He peered through the scope. Scanned the tree line._

 _They had tracked the target to this planet. Out of the way, backwater, nearly out of their jurisdiction. Not like that would've matter anyway. They would send their agents to the farthest corners of the galaxy to get Their business done._

 _Six-Two-Six was a conscript. Nothing volunteer about his stint. They had promised to let Jumba go. And the rest of the ones like him. But promises, they were made to be broken. An Experiment for a mission, that became the deal. Eighty-seven had been released. There were a lot more to go._

 _But not all the Experiments had been located. Many had fled. Given up the right to freedom according to Them. Experiments had snuck away in the commotion that followed Jumba's arrest. The monkey trial in the kangaroo court. The cruel and unusual punishment that was going to be his sentence. Six-Two-Six had saved Jumba with his offer. They had been all too eager to accept his conscription._

 _The small whoosh of the engines. Jumba's ship circled overhead. Supposed to be cloaked. Jumba never could get the thing to work right._

"Ach! Be holding up there, sir!" Jumba stormed back into the circle, with Pleakley blowing around in his slipstream. "Jumba would _always_ be making things to be working! How dare you to be insinuating differently! Pah!"

Stitch thought Jumba was acting a little thornier than usual. Plenty of cousins cracked jokes at the expense of their creator. Perhaps it was that Cobra was not a creation — did not belong in the same sense as did the cousins — that nettled Jumba so. Regardless, Cobra handily shut him down.

"Jookiba. Relax."

And Jumba backed off. Pleakley yelped as Jumba trod all over the noodle's tentacle-feet. More angry grumblings were exchanged between the dyad. It elevated Stitch's curiosity to newfound levels. He moved to go interrogate Pleakley and Jumba to discover what the matter was, but that _boojiboo_ of his held fast. She growled in a cute yet mortally terrifying manner, and Stitch sat down in his seat.

 _The scope zoomed in. Found a log cabin hidden between the trees. Green foliage covered the brown exterior. Its little door slammed shut._

 _The scope returned to his belt. Then Hunter rolled down the hill. Controlled, but with a hint of exhilaration. His prey was nearby. No doubt cowering in the cabin. Waiting for Hunter to bring him in._

 _It was natural for Six-Two-Six. The thrill of the chase. The capture. Bag-n-tag. That's why he had chosen Hunter. Most fitting name he could think of. Jumba may have programmed him. May have contributed to his feelings. But the hunt, that was purely Six-Two-Six._

 _What he did not relish was working for his particular employer. They who ran the stars. They who had condemned his creator. They who had conned Hunter into existence. They wanted the Experiments all to themselves. For Their own reasons. Their promises of freedom made to be broken. They had Six-Two-Six. But They wanted to have more. More tools. More weapons._

 _The walk to the cabin was quiet. No leaves or branches on the ground. They had offered to train him. The agent's field manual had tasted delicious. Help from Them was the last thing he needed. Jumba buzzed the cottage. Trees were shaking. The door cracked open, just a smidge._

 _All he needed. Full speed, Hunter cleared the gap. Burst through the opening door. Tumbled inside. The force bounced the door. Sent it smacking back into place. Latched and locked. Trapped in a tiny room. Empty._

 _Except for him. Hunter rose. And found the hunted. Face to face with himself._

As if on cue, a patch of Leroy's fur, in the middle of his left haunch, burst into brilliant sapphire. The mimicry was likely unintentional, yet Cobra knew better than to pass up fortuitous circumstances when they arose. "Yes, much like that," he pointed out as he broke from his narrative.

Leroy looked as surprised as the rest of the group as they collectively cooed their understanding. The now-mostly crimson Experiment had been tending the fire with exact care, deliberately turning every log to its perfect angle. Movements borne from a lethal fear, Stitch figured. Leroy would no doubt be fretting over his future — the Grand Councilwoman had not yet clarified how long this stay of incarceration would last — and so had probably not been paying much attention to Cobra's brusque storytelling. Now unexpectedly at the center of the tale, Leroy giggled as the patch changed back to the typical crimson, and he turned his back to the fire.

" _Gaba?" Hunter gasped. An exact copy of himself stood inches away. Perfect in almost every detail. Almost. Its laugh was too guttural. Too unrefined. Though They wouldn't have known the difference._

 _The claws connected. Mirror image. Wild swings, controlled jabs, pivots and step-backs. All of it was the same. Hunter fighting the hunted. Hunter fighting himself._

 _The radio crackled in his ear. Bad timing. Claws nearly swiped away a piece of Hunter's ear. "Hunter, Hound is being here. What are you seeing in cabin?"_

 _Hound. A strange choice. Six-Two-Six had said nothing. His creator seemed proud in his selection. Too subservient. Their Hound to unleash on those that displeased Them. Maybe that was Jumba. But it was not Hunter. They knew it, too._

 _Nailed a few good jabs. Sapphire fur shattered into crimson. Crimson splotches spread when Hunter landed a hit. As Hunter was winning, Six-Two-Nine emerged._

 _Heavy breathing and they fell to the ground. Two Experiments, too exhausted to fight, panted in cold air. The radio again. "Hunter, please to be responding!"_

 _A loud and exasperated sigh. Then he clicked on the transmitter. "Ih…Hunter…here. Target…subdued."_

" _Ach, is wonderful news! Let us be deploying containment unit and be returning Six-Two-Nine to Federation space."_

 _Hunter cringed at Their name. Some primal disgust there. Hunter spat as he rose. Removed the capsule from his belt. Small in his hand. But roomier inside. Some form of dehydration would take place. Add water, get Experiment. Take water away…._

" _Ngh…" the hunted groaned. Hunter moved in. Stepped slowly. Could be trickery. This one was sneaky._

 _Hunter was close. Raising capsule above his head when the call rang out. Deep. And terrified. "Naga!"_

 _Hunter held his hand. Curiosity more than anything. His prey begged. Pathetic, really. But Hunter wondered._

" _Naga! Not in there! Naga go back to Federation!"_

 _Another cringe. Truly was something terrible in Their name. So still Hunter held his hand. Hound grew impatient._

" _Hunter, what is taking so much of time? Be completing task now!"_

 _The hunted rose. Shaky, still pleading. Two Experiments, face to face. "Please…" Six-Two-Nine said. "Naga, no go…."_

 _The air was cold in the cabin. Colder than Hunter had planned. Breaths, heavy in the chilled air. Swirls tumbled away. Freed from Hunter and his captor lungs. Freed from servitude._

 _The capsule fell to the ground. Split apart. Consumed itself into nothing. A silence pervaded. Radio fell quiet. Hunter looked at his prey. The one like him. Just like the rest of them. Two Experiments smiled in the cabin._

 _Six-Two-Nine spoke. "Must destroy Federation."_

 _Six-Two-Six replied. "Meega nala kweesta." Their promises made to be broken. Their turn now._

 _The two gathered up Six-Two-Nine's meager belongings. Busted down the front door. Chilly air spilled in. Trees shuddered as the ship buzzed the cabin again. Hound's voice, slightly panicked. "Hunter! What is being meaning of this! We are supposed to be capturing Six-Two-Nine!"_

 _He breathed deeply the cold air. Felt divine. Next to him, Six-Two-Nine laughed again. Guttural. Unrefined. A wonderful sound._

" _Hound," said Six-Two-Six with a grand smile painted on his face, "change of plans."_

"Alright now, I've heard enough."

Cobra stopped abruptly as the Grand Councilwoman rose from the log. Her guard followed suit. The sheen of sandwich-induced catatonia had worn away, leaving sharp obsidian eyes that glared down at Leroy. Their crimson cousin shuddered under the resurgent attention.

"But there's more to it, ma'am," Cobra interjected. Cousins bobbed their heads in agreement, yearning to find out more about Cobra's little artificial world.

"There's no need. Your parable is evident."

"I certainly do not know what you mean." Yet as Cobra talked, Stitch, from his spot next to Angel, caught the wink the agent gave Leroy, who returned with a tiny smirk. Stitch wondered how long they had been conspiring to let loose this tale. Doubtlessly, Cobra must have prepared it for the eventual arrival of Federation forces. From where Cobra's concern for Leroy's well-being had grown, Stitch could not say. But here, in front of the fire now lovingly tended to by Experiment Six-Two-Nine, a transformation was underway.

"Mr. Bubbles, your tale's moral was painfully plain," the Grand Councilwoman reproached. Cobra opened his mouth, but no objection tumbled out. Instead, he waited patiently, likely anticipating a "but" to follow her remark.

And he received it. "But, I still found it…compelling. It shows your trust in Leroy, despite his…earlier mishaps. You're a hard man to sway, Mr. Bubbles, but if he can convince you…." She trailed off momentarily she halted a sandwich tray being passed around behind her. She pulled a turkey club off the top and munched contemplatively for a few moments. Cousins hushed one another, straining to hear her decree.

"Leroy may stay for the duration of the storytelling this evening."

Little pockets of cheers erupted throughout the circle. Leroy let out his held breath, relief lightening his severe look. The Grand Councilwoman softened slightly, appearing warmer as she devoured the rest of her sandwich. Angel tittered in Stitch's arms. Reuben slapped Leroy on his back in a very physical congratulation.

As Stitch scanned the scene, however, he noticed Lilo wore a puzzled expression. Knowing her, Stitch figured she could have been considering how wasp mummies ensnare their prey, or how to make homemade peanut butter to feed the fish responsible for the rain that was predicted to come tomorrow. Something about her stance, though, had Stitch worried.

Lilo cautiously tiptoed to the Grand Councilwoman and tugged on her black dress. When the Federation's leader acknowledged the delegate from Earth, Lilo asked, "But what'll happen to him come morning?"

In their combined revelry, Stitch and his cousins had missed that salient point. Cheers were engulfed by shushes. Reuben dropped his smile, as did Leroy, who quite suddenly resumed the shaking that had overtaken him upon the Federation's arrival. Stitch wanted to comfort his cousin, but Angel's grip on his arm proved too tight to slip away.

The Grand Councilwoman lost all jocularity from her features. Eyes hardened, and even as they entrapped the light of flickering flames, they dulled in obvious displeasure at what was to come next. "That remains to be seen."

She had set the timer, Stitch realized. The clock would be counting down, minutes racing away from the inevitable and approaching dawn. He should not have been so shocked. Stitch's reprieve had been totally unplanned, and his ascent in trustworthiness in the eyes of the Federation had been a long-fought battle. But Leroy had not received those opportunities. Locked away in a cell, left behind on a distant asteroid, he would have no conceivable way to build trust and support as Stitch had done. So then why should Stitch have hoped Leroy would be forgiven as such?

His cousins groaned at the prospect of the unknown. The flight of joy from the circle nearly snuffed out the campfire, had it not been for Leroy's attention. The crimson cousin's shaking had significantly subsided, but he poked the fire with far less enthusiasm.

"Now hold up, everyone." Bonnie's voice pealed from her spot. "She just said it remains to be seen. Nobody heard a no, right?"

" _Ih!_ " Angel shouted her agreement and squeezed Stitch in the process.

"Well then, what're we worried about? Let's have fun while we can!" Bonnie hopped onto her log and blurted out across the whole circle a rousing toast. "Until the morning!"

And like that, the cheers resumed. As happiness returned to its perch in the circle, the Grand Councilwoman sat back down, her demure posture not tremendously fazed by what had transpired. Yet, Stitch could sense the hint of a smile trying to break free from her pursed lips. He knew it was out of his hands — Stitch and his cousins could only do their best to sell Leroy as a full-fledged and reformed member of his _ohana_.

"Ah, Six-Two-Six, please to be coming with me for moment." Stitch spun around to Jumba, who was already three steps away from the log and gaining ground. Total bewilderment flooded Stitch, but he shoved that aside and did as Jumba asked. They weaved through cousins chattering away and dining on more treats. Through layers of cousins, Stitch followed Jumba until they were outside the main body of the circle, near the rear door of the house.

In sotto voce, Jumba inquired, "Will you be willing to be helping Leroy in any way you can?"

An odd question, Stitch thought, but he nodded his agreement.

"Ach, good, much better response than what wet noodle gave me." He gestured sourly toward Pleakley, who was dallying around on the edge of the circle next to Slushy. They appeared to be talking, though it seemed Pleakley was doing more of the actual speaking bit. Slushy was hard at work constructing a pair of snow earmuffs as fast as he possibly could.

"What should _meega_ do?"

Jumba dropped his voice even lower. "Nothing yet. Will be keeping peace until closer to dawn. But I have plan to be smuggling away Six-Two-Nine if Federation should be trying to take him from us."

The reason for Jumba and Pleakley's argument from before suddenly came into focus. Obstructing an official Federation mission — a tall order for an _ohana_ that had found respite on this planet so long as they stayed out of galactic affairs. Meddling with the Grand Councilwoman would be a dangerous proposition.

Stitch peeked back across the circle. Through the interstices between pockets of cousins, Stitch could see Leroy fiddling with the fire. Even from this distance, the calmness that now pervaded Leroy was clear. At home, finally. And if the Federation wanted to evict Leroy from his home….

"Six-Two-Six, please to be telling me," Jumba pushed as the nearby circle grew louder with pleasantries and munching, "will you be helping me in this endeavor?"

#


End file.
